


Everything Changes

by Raziel



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Melbourne, POV William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne, Vicbourne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:59:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 86,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raziel/pseuds/Raziel
Summary: Takes place after Soft Focus, which follows Blurred Lines.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from "Everything Changes" by Staind. Check it out on YouTube.

My husband tells me I am too old for such drama. That is the price I pay for foolishly imagining I can talk to him about what goes on at court. True, I have lost the habit of regularly seeing most of the friends in whom I might otherwise confide. But still, how can he be such a booby when I try to unburden myself? I am neither too old nor so disinterested an observer that I could simply walk away.

William Lamb has been my friend for nigh on forty years. Just the reckoning sends shivers down my spine. Where has the time gone? I recall as though it were only yesterday the first time I saw him with the freshly opened eyes of a young lady and not a childhood playmate. It was as though the clouds parted and a ray of sun shown down on him alone. _Sentimental fool! You sound like the booby you accuse Portman of being_! Nonetheless it was something I’d never experienced before and never wanted to again. At least, not once I saw how it was. While his sister Emily and the rest of us girls in the neighborhood were learning to comport ourselves as ladies of quality that hoyden Caroline Ponsonby had snatched hold of his heart. He only had eyes for her.

No need to dwell on the dance she led him - the whole world knows that story - save to say it brought us closer. I only accepted Portman as a poor substitute for William Lamb, but he served me well enough over the years as an undemanding spouse and never once remarked on my attentions to my friend.

And I was there, to provide what solace I could – never _that_ kind, no matter how I longed for it – but dear William is too kind a man to conduct dalliance with someone he understands to have their heart engaged in the matter. He prefers the cool bright charms of such as Lady Branden and Caroline Norton, as well as a long list of celebrated noblewomen I could name if I chose. But it was, and remains, me to whom he turns for solace, as a friend and confidant and I am finally of the belief I got the best of that bargain. William does not end his affairs with thunder and lightning. If he did, I think it would better suit those poor creatures. No, our William is of a tranquil nature and when his passion cools he fades away in plain sight, leaving frantic damsels engaging in more and more outlandish conduct to reignite a spark that for him never burned as brightly as they'd hoped. Even Caro, to whom he gave his name, never ceased raging against the essential coolness of his character, his steadfast refusal to prove his love by the grand gestures and dramatic encounters she craved.

Ah yes…I have made a study of William Lamb, best of men, most charming of companions, most loyal of friends. Only at what is perhaps the final stage of his life – his, ours, all those delightful contemporaries who were the brightest lights of England at the turn of the century – does he find himself unable to remain immune from the kind of all-consuming passion which he previously avoided. Who would have ever thought this most controlled of men would fall in love with the only woman on the planet he could not fit into one of those neat compartments where each of the others resided, somewhere on the periphery of his heart? His little Queen is the tempest that blew through and upended his life. I often imagine how Caro would laugh, if she could see her complacent and undemanding husband finally ruled by the kind of unrestrained passion she mocked him for lacking, if she knew her placid protector who in the final analysis didn’t care quite enough then, now cares so much it quite deranges his senses.

Her Majesty the Queen? Yes. I concede I have grown fond of her, as I should be, having served her as chief Lady, companion, friend, and keeper of secrets. I admit that my original scorn stemmed from the jealousy anyone might feel, seeing a fresh faced eighteen year old girl effortlessly capture the heart which eluded one for so many years. But yes, I like her well enough; more than like, I am as attached to her as I ever have been to another female, perhaps the more so because I have quite reluctantly been an integral part of their affair since long before it began. I was the first to see how it was, even before either of them knew their own hearts.

Until the events of last week I foolishly thought that we – that they, and all who love and serve them – were past the early, unsettled days and things might continue on in the calm untroubled rhythm of this rather unusual Royal household. The Queen, her Prince Consort, his lovers and her Lord M, making a family that had become as unremarkable in its domesticity as any other. A lively, promising Crown Prince, the Princess Elizabeth flourishing after her dramatic entrance into the world on that awful day in August…what else could possibly happen to disrupt the contentment all around us? _Men plan, God laughs,_ some wit or other once said.

They will be parted again. Not, God willing, forever, and not even because of malice, disapproval or some scheming, ambitious _nouveau roi_. No, simply, this is not the time, midway through a censorious century most notable for bourgeois morality, for a newly widowed Queen to flagrantly cohabit with her lover, no matter the _domicile_ in question has upwards of 900 rooms, 500 servants, a full Regiment of Household Cavalry, dogs, cats, birds and noble companions such as I. Not even the accepting presence of the deceased’s uncle (in truth, father, for ours is hardly the only court to have adapted to circumstance), doting brother and an assortment of maternal relations are sufficient to lend our little Queen the gravitas demanded of a new widow.

That William must wed her in the end, there should be no doubt. I told him as much to his face when he presumed to dither on the issue. His sister, brother and brother-in-law quite firmly agree, as do the poor late Prince’s relations. Even Peel and the old Iron Duke weighed in with their approval and promised support for a marriage not yet proposed. He made their objections for them and they acquitted him of all but false modesty. They do not know the things I know.

What puts us all in such turmoil, the little Queen in despair and William buffeted by the conflicting demands of his natural desire and his sensibility? No one can shield them from the scandal, should he marry her prematurely, and no one can support his residing under the same roof with his affianced wife until a public proclamation of marriage can be made with all the dignity of the Church of which she is Head. Peel especially is adamant. He has been working hard, poor man, to clean up the circumstances surrounding the Prince’s demise and erase all hint of the scandal which would erupt in our hypocritical society, should it be known where, how and by whose hand the Queen’s husband met his end. This British monarchy is a fragile thing, essentially an illusion upheld by mutual consent of the people and the Crown, so says William. And Peel most emphatically decrees that one more whisper, one more breath of scandal, will bring the whole down around our ears like a house of cards. And that, I suspect, is the crux of the issue for Lord Melbourne. He has always feared the scrutiny which would necessarily come if the prospect of his marriage to the Queen reached the public domain. Then and now, he is a good man of strong sentiment, tender heart and aversion to the sort of public attention Caro brought to him. But he is a man. He has lived a far from spotless life. No, the Queen doesn’t know all his secrets.

And so here we are. She weeps on my shoulder, he is as worried as ever I've seen him. We are a Palace in mourning, only not perhaps for the most obvious of reasons. Our Crown Prince thought well enough of the Consort, and Prince Albert was as kind and attentive as any _de facto_ uncle or grown brother, but it is for William, his papa, that he will cry. The Princess Royal is as yet insensible to the faces of those around her, save her wet-nurses and governess, but I know William dreads missing the proximity to his longed-for daughter out of which indelible memories will be formed.

The Queen is no longer eighteen. She is a woman now, a mother, has been a wife and a well-loved mistress. But there is still much she does not know about the man she placed on a pedestal so long ago, and much she would not understand.

William is not a young man. He is resilient, and has recovered well from that attack of cerebral apoplexy, but another could strike him down at any time. No, he should not be forced out of the home he shares with his children and their mother, but I know that is not his greatest fear, or at least the one which weighs heaviest on his mind. I know it is the thought of seeing the love in her eyes die, to be replaced by something less than the adoration he's grown accustomed to.

And me? I will be, as I’ve always been, where I’m needed most, with my friend William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer to write than I like. Real life unpleasantly intervenes. Thank goodness for the blessed escape of our Vicbourne/Lord M alternate universe.

Emma Portman

The palace is full of whispers. Walk into any room unannounced, turn into any corridor unexpectedly, and there you have it. Housemaids tittering behind their aprons, the Duchess of Kent huddled with the uncles, her own brother and the late Duke’s, for it’s not politics alone making strange bedfellows. Peel here more often than Melbourne these days, closeted with his police commissioners and the Archbishop and that other fellow, preaching fire and brimstone from a pair of wet red lips that make me imagine all sorts of unpleasant unspeakable acts, for have you ever noticed how such puffed moist mouths always suggest perversion?

Her Majesty goes about the business of monarchy quite unperturbed and although it might be presumptuous of me, I’ve let her see my approval. I admit I anticipated all sorts of moping and histrionics but she’s handling the separation from William with all her natural dignity. Any melancholy is of course readily attributed to her very fresh bereavement. If the hint of a smile crinkles her eyes when she glances down at her hands I expect nobody notices that the ring Albert once placed on her finger has been newly replaced by the one William placed there to mark the promise of their betrothal.

He will dine with us tonight, in company with enough other guests that his presence will go unremarked, and of course Her Majesty’s extended family. At some point during the evening I will endeavor to give him some time alone with her. It won’t be enough and I confess to more than a little distaste at the prospect of standing watch as they steal a few kisses, cuddle and coo but we all must do our part in service to the Crown.

Brocket Hall continues to supply us with blooms and Her Majesty looks especially pretty with a single greenhouse orchid tucked behind her ear. She wears none of the Crown jewels with her widow’s black, of course, only a small silver bird on a fine chain which I happen to know was one of his earliest gifts to her, an unobjectionable bit of trumpery that even her mother didn’t protest. Like everything associated with her Lord M, the Queen cherishes it above diamonds the size of eggs.

We gather in the Red Gallery before dinner. It takes no steward announcing him in stentorian tones to know the exact moment he enters the room. Something in the very air changes when they come into each other’s orbit, and although neither give any immediate sign, the physical awareness between them is palpable. I am as aware as I know she is, as he greets other guests along his path to her. I can watch him as she cannot, for no one cares where one of the Ladies in Waiting, and a middle-aged matron at that, rests her gaze. And so I feast my eyes on the vision that is William Lamb. Unlike most men our age he is as trim as a boy of twenty, and with a fine leg shown to admiration in his evening attire. The black velvet of his exquisitely cut coat sits well on his shoulders and his thick head of curly hair holds just enough silver to lend him a patina. Ah yes; William is even more handsome now than he was as a youth, that chiseled profile and big deep-set eyes causing many more hearts than just mine and his Queen’s to flutter. If any man in history could so effortlessly win the heart of an eighteen year old sovereign at first glance it would be William.

“Emma,” he bowed over my hand and just brushed it with his lips, the contact a breach of propriety made permissible by the length of our friendship. “You are looking well tonight. What news from Edward?”

I answered his pleasant inquiry with an abbreviated summary of my husband’s agricultural pursuits, basking in his attention all too briefly before effacing myself so he could greet the one he came to see.

“Your Majesty!” He finally turned to her, dropping to one knee with such effortless grace it put dancers to shame. She held out one hand for his kiss and I was happy to see his lips made contact only one-two-three beats too long.

“Lord M, we are so pleased you could join us. We’ve missed you.” Her voice was low and sweet, and her tone not much warmer than it had been when she greeted the long-nosed clergyman and his sour-faced wife.

“Your Majesty is too kind.” Their eyes met and held for long enough that I cleared my throat.

“Fanny,” he bowed to the youngest of our maids of honor, his sister Emily’s girl, and moved to stand at one side of the room.

Dinner was a stilted affair and I knew the Queen exerted herself to remain at table long enough that her guests could gobble a few morsels. She conversed  with the Duke of Brunswick, who had the honor of escorting her in. I suspect I was the only one certain that she had no conscious recollection of the commonplaces she uttered, or responses she heard, so keenly did she anticipate her few promised minutes alone with her Lord M.

Melbourne was seated beside me. As Viscount and Viscountess we were amongst the least by rank of those present. We could have no meaningful conversation at table but he was able to address a few comments to me without being overheard.

“How does she do, Emma?”

“It’s been all of three days, William. She is not yet prostrate with grief.” My tone was deliberately wry but I saw the look in his eyes and took pity. “Of course she misses you. I see her by day, and I’m sure it is worse at night.” One eyebrow arched was all I would say further on _that_ subject.

“As I miss her. Please, Emma, do your best to be sure she takes no strange notions as to my activities in her  absence. She tends to suspect any female with whom I exchange pleasantries of being the object of my desire, the more so when she feels trapped here and I am elsewhere.” My treacherous eyebrow lifted once more, in company with the sidelong glance I gave him.

“That was then, Emma. I am and will continue to be devoted only to her. We will be married. Just…be sure to protect her from the gossip that seems to follow me.” He cleared his throat and smiled at me so winningly that even though I suspected a deliberate attempt to charm, none such was necessary. Effortless charm was part of this man's character.

“She has heard rumors of that piece in _The Age._ The Duke of Brunswick will bring suit again. They did not mention Albert directly but the allusions were clear. It’s only a matter of time before they do name him and include her and her court in their deadly satires.”

“That’s why we must get this business settled and quickly. I do know how painful such satires can be and this entire –“ He gestured about him and I knew his meaning. “ – situation exists because of my determination to protect her from those scandals which attach to me. I will not permit the late Prince to tarnish Her Majesty’s reputation at a remove with his. Thus –“

“Thus,” I finished his thought. “Peel will use his religious reformers to paint the Prince as a martyr to the cause of Sodomite repression.”

“Exactly.” William didn’t appear pleased with the thought, as I knew he wasn’t, as no right-thinking progressive Liberal Englishman could welcome the intrusion of working class rabble rousing preachers poking their red noses into the bedrooms of the aristocracy.

Her little Majesty having restrained her impatience throughout dinner, finally rose and led the ladies out. I suggested the rare treat of a peek in the Throne Room and tour of the portrait gallery for the those visitors were still overawed to find themselves in the Palace and volunteered the Duchess of Kent to lead it, the one’s lower class sycophancy admirably suited to the other’s overweening pride. Having disposed of the two most likely to fray Her Majesty’s nerves, I dispatched Fanny and Harriet to the North wing in search of a shawl for the Queen’s mother lest she catch a chill in the draughty heights of the State rooms and briskly led the Queen to the Map Room.

Prince Ernst and William came along shortly after. Ernst, as unlike his late brother as two siblings can be, had a twinkle in his eye as he made me a gallant’s bow.

“Viscountess, just the person I hoped to see. My wife is expected this week and I hope you can advise me on —“ I accepted the arm he held out and we conspicuously turned our backs as the Prince gabbled on about arrangements for his new bride’s arrival.

As hard as we tried to make a show of ignoring them of course it was impossible not to see out of one’s peripheral vision William’s arms go about the Queen, his head bend to hers, as she flew into his arms. Three days! They carry on so after a three days’ separation! I couldn’t help shaking my head over it and was rewarded by the Prince’s cheeky grin.

I couldn’t make out the low murmured words coming from the far end of the room - not that I tried _very_ hard, of course - but soon it was time for me to end this tête-à-tête.

As one would expect from a man of good sense, William tried gently to detach the girl clinging to him like a limpet. Quite shamelessly, the Queen - perhaps in this context I might be forgiven for saying _Victoria_ \- kept one arm around him, under his coat, looking like any dairy maid strolling with her lover at a country fair.

I’m sure I pursed my lips disapprovingly - as much as I resented being cast as the spoilsport, someone had to recollect the appearance of propriety - for William _winked_ at me and Ernst only laughed.

“Ma’am, say thank you to our friends,” he told the Queen in such a tender caressing tone I might have blushed, if I were the blushing sort.

To her credit she unhanded him and instead reached for my hands, with that open, guileless expression that made me understand a little how swiftly William had fallen in love.

“Emma, Ernst, thank you both. This time would be unbearable without true friends like you.” Her little Majesty impulsively kissed my cheek and rose on tiptoes to do the same to her brother-in-law.

“Your Highness,” William addressed the Prince, who demurred.

“Please...how long has it been since we all became family? No titles...”

“Your Highness, I speak now for our government. Peel gave me leave to tell you that he and Rowan will be here tomorrow to meet with you on the matter of your brother’s death investigation. I will accompany them. Whether you choose to take your uncle into your confidence now, later or not at all is up to you.” William’s tone had dropped and the Prince’s mobile expressive features grew serious.

“Ah. So are the facts as we expect them?”

“They are. What Peel wishes to discuss is the interpretation of those facts, and the plan he has devised to ensure your brother’s legacy is unblemished. A plan he considers flawless even though made up of many moving parts and alliances which - well, I will let him explain himself.”

“And your opinion, William? Of this plan?”

“I can’t answer that. Will it serve the purpose? Perhaps. But...your brother was a good man. They intend to make him a saint, martyred to the cause of religious extremism.” William shook his head. “Truthfully I’m glad it’s not my decision to make. I respected the Prince and I think - I hope - we were friends. But I care about my country too, and this plan of Peel’s threatens to take us back a hundred years, persecution in the name of morality, constables invading bedrooms and mobs burning out private assemblies.” William shrugged, a fatalistic gesture that was quintessentially William Lamb. “The decision whether to back him, if indeed you even have a choice, will be yours to make. They are not willing to discuss the matter with the Queen.”

“How can my Prime Minister, my Police Commissioner, refuse to discuss the circumstances of my husband’s death with me?” The Queen’s temper might have erupted at any other time and place but physical proximity to William calmed and balanced her as it always did.

Both men looked quite pained. Must they always leave the saying of difficult things to we women? We couldn’t all stand here like ninnies answering the Queen with silence.

“Ma’am, I believe what William refers to is Peel’s discomfort in discussing with you the fact that His Highness was shot dead in a place of ill repute, where men go to engage in sexual encounters with other men, prostitutes.” I kept my voice dry and matter-of-fact. She was no shrinking miss and had honored and respected her husband as a person, without a need for pretense.

“Albert was murdered by a drunken scoundrel. My husband was a good man who cared deeply about those in need. He would never be guilty of exploiting anyone or taking advantage of an unwilling partner so why must we prevaricate?”

She looked righteously militant and I knew she was right. We all did. However, that was not the world we lived in, growing more prudish and judgmental by the day. When William and I were her age the _macaronis_ flourished, those glamorous effeminate young men who flaunted their style, their grace and gentle manner, quite the height of fashion. Beau Brummel was the ideal all young men strove to emulate, the Prince Regent filled his grand pavilion with beau monde dandies of every persuasion and who went to bed with whom may have led to interesting speculation but was no cause for censure. Marriages and love affairs like our Queen’s were common enough that I could count half a dozen amongst our set in the year of my coming out. Now, however, in the Year of Our Lord 1843 the merchant class, the middle class, sought to impose their constricted notions of propriety on the rest of society and were succeeding.

“Ma’am, you must return to your guests. The Prince and I will have been out looking at his new hunter.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then left quickly as the Queen silently followed me back to her drawing room.

Her Majesty murmured apologies, using a late visit to the nursery as her excuse – to the Baroness’s credit she made no demur – and gracefully took her seat. A few minutes later William and Prince Ernst entered, chatting about some horse they presumably had just examined. The chair beside the Queen had been left empty. It was where William always sat. I smoothly rose to intercept him.

“Surely you didn’t mean to dissuade the Prince from approving whatever _plan_ Peel might have to put this episode behind us, William?” I carefully maintained a pleasant drawing-room tone, aware of ears all around us.

“I expressed some reservations, Emma. It’s not my decision to make. The Queen will have to be consulted in the end. If Peel won’t do it himself then it will fall to me, I suppose. And you heard her thoughts.”

“She expressed an objective opinion only, William. The Queen is a woman and a mother first, and however it’s done, you need the support of Peel and the country to wed quickly. That will be uppermost in her mind.”

“I think you underestimate her, Emma. Victoria is a Queen first and foremost and will think what is best for her subjects. Perhaps she will determine that deifying her late husband is not worth the trade of alienating the bishops of her own church and empowering the radical reformers.”

I harrumphed audibly and gave him a _look_. I didn’t say the words “stupid man” but I think perhaps he intuited it, for his fine mouth twitched in a half-smile.

“Don’t hold back, Emma, express yourself freely.” I said nothing and he chuckled. “Then if you will excuse me, I will go sit with the Queen while I may.”

There were no games of whist that evening, to the disappointment of the Duchess and those young gentlemen who remained of the late Prince’s household. The vocal disapproval of our esteemed reverend inhibited every form of entertainment usually the custom. His invitation was clearly a reward of some sort dispensed by Peel, but _oh Lord_! could we be spared any more such long sour faces at Court?

Her Majesty and our Lord Melbourne seemed content enough to listen to the stilted dialogue, pleased to sit within feet of each other, and that allowed me to relax and unbend. Each time their eyes met – and they were cautious enough to avoid too many such glances – hers were so openly adoring and his, so melting with tenderness, that no one with a heart could begrudge them this much time in one another’s company. _Agree to whatever Peel devises and get on with it_ , I thought. Life offers little enough consolation. It was wrong to keep apart two people who were so obviously meant to be together and quite tedious to be exposed to their sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance that this is somewhat denser/heavier than the effervescent fics I love as a reader but the first half of the 19th century was such a fascinating time with so much rich material I get lost in the research! For truly impeccable historical accuracy within the Vicbourne universe, check out EfrainJorge's body of work.


	3. Chapter 3

Melbourne returned to the palace so early the next morning he was reminded why he’d originally been given apartments there, during the reign of King William IV. Despite what the scandal mongers whispered, a Prime Minister frequently found himself quartered at the sovereign’s residence for expediency’s sake, along with most members of the Privy Council.

Peel and Wellington with Rowan and Mayne were waiting in the Prince’s library, far enough removed from the main corridors to ensure privacy, for the same reason this meeting was taking place away from Whitehall and the busyness of the House. Melbourne was relieved to see only Peel’s secretary with them, and no representatives from either the more reasonable established Church or the firebrand reformers.

Ernst joined them a few moments later.

“Gentlemen,” he bowed to Melbourne, less deeply to Peel and merely inclined his head to the police commissioners.

Robert Peel began in his typically stiff manner, making the introductions pro forma. “The Duke of Wellington is with us as head of the Tory party, and Lord Melbourne as head of the Whigs and counselor to the Queen. Prince Ernst Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, brother of the late Prince Consort is here as head of his family and in the interests of the Crown Prince and Princesse Royal.”

“Our English Prince of Wales needs no German _guardian ad litem_ ,” Wellington interrupted in his low gravelly voice. “I think we all agree the Heir has a competent mother to represent his interests, and Viscount Melbourne to speak on her behalf.”

Melbourne said nothing, appreciating both the Duke’s sentiment and Ernst’s role.

“Yes, of course. These gentlemen are the police commissioners. Sir Charles Rowan served under you at Waterloo, Duke, and Sir Richard Mayne was a Dublin attorney with whom I believe you were acquainted, Lord Melbourne, when you were Home Secretary and even during your time in Dublin Castle.” Melbourne knew Peel was speaking for the record being diligently kept by his secretary; he also considered the man a pompous windbag who would never use two words when ten would do.

“Lord Rowan is here to read the official investigatory report on the assassination of Prince Albert, Consort to our Queen. This report will become a matter of public record and, I anticipate, be of great interest to both the more reputable newspapers and the scandalous rags. It is our intent to release it immediately upon obtaining your agreement, gentlemen, to head off the speculation which is already surfacing.”

Ernst looked as grim as he was able, Melbourne noted, with a flush of sympathy for the younger man. He and his brother had been as close as twins and there was great affection between them. This had to be hard on him, knowing where fraternal duty ended and political duty began.

_“On the night of Monday November 13, 1843 the Prince Consort of Great Britain, in company with several gentlemen of his household, entered a private residence located in the neighborhood of Billingsgate. The Prince was a well-known reformer with great passion for social good and improving the lot of the underclasses and stamping out all manner of vice. He went to this residence – which was in fact an establishment devoted to the most obscene and unmentionable exploitation of young boys who were abducted for the purpose and set upon a path of servitude – to shine the light of reformism upon such horrible abuses against the laws of God and Man as  were perpetrated there._

_The Prince, to his eternal credit, spared no thought for his own safety in his zeal to rescue any unfortunates he found corrupted, and bring to the attention of the Law such persons as were violating section 15 of the Offences against the Person Act of 1828._

_During the course of his valiant effort, the Prince Consort was shot and fatally wounded by a scoundrel who was subsequently shot by one of the Prince’s companions. At the time, their only concern was to secure medical treatment. Information later provided allowed members of the Metropolitan Police Force to conduct a raid at this location._

_Out of an excess of grief and religious zeal, a group of citizens had already stormed this den of iniquity, hung several males they found engaged in unnatural acts and burned the place to the ground, unfortunately making it no longer possible to conduct a physical examination of the premises._

_We therefore declare the death of the Prince misadventure of the most heroic kind, and will so bring evidence at the Inquest_.” Commissioner Rowen looked to Peel, who nodded for him to be seated beside Mayne.

“This is the official report only. There will be unofficial information leaked by informants that further attest to the Prince’s bravery and zeal to reform such pitiful places, which we expect will be taken up as a rallying cry by those seeking to reform religion in this country and bring sinners back to a proper observation of Holy Law.” Melbourne exchanged glances with Prince Ernst, deferring to him.

“So Albert is to be made a saint? A prig and a prude sticking his nose into the private affairs of the subjects of this great country?” Ernst spat out the words and saw Peel flush. “You must forgive my imperfect command of English if I do not speak with the proper degree of dissimulation,” he added.

“The Prince Consort’s life and death will be held up as a model of Christian virtue, sir,” Peel answered stiffly. “Melbourne, tell him –“

Melbourne shrugged, unwilling to commit to a response that might put him on one side or the other.

“Peel, can you be certain that this reformer agitation won’t get out of hand?” Wellington asked. “It’s one thing to burn down a few brothels, quite another should they start poking their red noses into the lives of their betters. No one wants that.”

“I believe that if we judiciously release the information we wish them to have, our allies in the Wesleyan and Pentecostal movements will properly focus only on the lowest of the low such establishments. Not that cleaning it all up would be a bad thing. Why, do you know that of a night the whole of Coventry Garden is a veritable marketplace for every type of perversion you can imagine? Floggings for sexual gratification, unspeakable acts brought back from France and the east…”

Melbourne laughed easily and held up his hand. “Spare our blushes, Sir Robert.” He sighed. “And this thing won’t just die on its own?”

Police Commissioner Rowan spoke up unbidden. “No, sir, it will not. There was no opportunity to place the…er, the body in a more public location where footpads could be blamed and such a crowd had gathered outside this _molly house_ that there was no hope of suppressing the recollections of an entire neighborhood.” Peel was about to speak but Wellington rose instead. “We thank you, Commissioners. You may wait in the anteroom now.”

Peel cleared his throat and assumed an imperfect air of authority.

“Lord Wellington, Lord Melbourne, Prince, may I direct you to the most recent article published in a respectable paper, the Morning Chronicle? It discusses the Duke of Brunswick, the late Prince’s close friend and one of the gentlemen who accompanied him that evening.” Peel read from the paper he indicated. “’… _in Germany they all agree that the Duke is not insane, but that he is excessively depraved, and a perfect NERO in disposition… IT is rumored that England is to be honored with the reception of this base sovereign. Somehow or other, there is a presentiment in the minds of all the Continental tyrants, that they are quite safe in England – that here they will be quite secure from the fury of the people they have outraged and sacrificed_. . .’ They are alluding to His Highness’s sharing those proclivities with the Prince Consort of course, but the Queen herself will soon be tarred with the same brush.” He slammed his hand down on a stack of newsprint.

“There have been ‘letters’ written to the less reputable papers, describing all manner of licentious conduct by the Prince and his companions _while the Queen is present_. Hiding behind what they call “letters” they can publish anything without fear of charges of slander. “… _the pox-ridden Prince cuckolding an English duke under the Queen’s nose_ ’ about you, sir, and Melbourne, rehashing claims of ‘ _flogging servant girls, foundlings and Duchesses_ ’, naming names and asking if this is the man we want mentoring our Queen, influencing our prince.”

“Enough, Peel, enough for God’s sake. I think we all get the point. Which is, I assume, your confidence that, properly directed, you can use the religious zealots to divert attention from the Crown by aiming them at the Sodomites in our midst?”

“Yes, sir. That is my contention. I don’t see that there is much choice in the matter. The Queen will remain untouched by this matter, except to mourn the loss of her husband in unimpeachable fashion. ‘The Widow of Windsor’, she will be seen prostrate with grief, attending only to the young children left to her. We will handle the rest. These are matters which no lady, certainly no Queen, can comprehend. So…gentlemen… have I your permission to proceed? We will release the Commissioner’s report immediately and use intermediaries to leak enough salacious detail to whip up the fundamentalists.” Peel looked to each of them for an answer.

“Melbourne, Your Highness…he’s right that it will provide a distraction, as well as a cover story for what the prince was doing in that damnable place, brawling over a pullet.” Wellington stated baldly. “Since no one saw fit to put a stop to his activities before it got that far. And Peel, it is understood that as gentlemen we have an agreement with Lord Melbourne in place. That in a year, we will support his marriage to the Queen? Sooner if the thing can be done?”

Peel looked as uncomfortably close to squirming as a large man could in the presence of his betters but he grudgingly nodded.

“As long as no hint of scandal or premature announcement takes place, yes. If I am no longer Prime Minister at that time, however –“ He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“We won’t equivocate. Melbourne, I give you my word as a gentleman that at the end of a year you can marry your Queen. I’ll give little Vicky away myself if it comes to that. Lord knows, she’s earned it.” Wellington had the final word and Peel could only nod his assent as the old Iron Duke spoke plainly. “If you’re no longer in office, Peel, there can be no objection at all, not that I ever understood what barrier beyond German ambition – no disrespect, Your Highness – existed to the match to begin with.”

“And I am witness to that agreement. If the Queen of this great country can’t marry where she chooses, then you may come to Coburg and wed her there, Lord Melbourne. We will make you a German duke, how about that, eh?” Prince Ernst allowed a grin to warm his expression.

The meeting adjourned with handshakes all around and Melbourne walked toward the public entrance with Ernst, away from the private residence hallways he wanted to travel.

“Lord Melbourne, my wife is due to arrive today. I don’t believe you’ve met her. Princess Alexandrine of Baden. She is a lovely young woman and quite overwhelmed by the prospect of attending the Queen, surrounded by courtiers. Here at the Palace.”

“Indeed? The Court should be as quiet as it ever is, with the pall of mourning still hanging over us.”

“I would like her to see some of the beautiful countryside. Even at this time of year, rural life can be so invigorating. While there can be no thought of formal entertaining during this mourning period, I thought perhaps a visit to your country home would be possible. If you were to invite us. I am sure the Queen would be willing to accompany her sister-in-law to Brocket Hall so they can become better acquainted as sisters, beyond the scrutiny of our elders.”

Melbourne understood at once and was grateful again for the Prince’s support. “Certainly, Your Highness, Brocket Hall would be honored. Perhaps a small party only? To permit your wife to relax after her journey?”

“Yes, perfect. We don’t wish to overwhelm your servants. My wife and I, perhaps the Queen’s attendants, the children and Baroness Lehzen if you wish. I think that would meet all the demands of propriety while ensuring my wife’s wish for privacy?” Melbourne bowed and allowed his mouth to twitch in a small smile.

“As Your Highness wishes. I’m sure the Queen will be most agreeable, and I am most…appreciative. Of the honor you do me in suggesting Brocket Hall as a retreat for your Duchess. I will inform my sister she is to play hostess. I believe my brother and his young wife will likewise be there. That should satisfy the most scrupulous of observers. And my sister-in-law might provide companionship for your bride. Should the Queen and her attendant be otherwise occupied.”

During their conversation Melbourne and Prince Ernst had approached the Grand Stairway. They looked up as Victoria approached. She extended her hand to first her brother-in-law and then Melbourne. He looked about them, and shrugged when he saw the servants coming and going.

“Ma’am,” Melbourne bowed. “I will leave you with Prince Ernst now. He will answer any questions you might have regarding Peel’s visit. I have invited him and his wife, and of course Your Majesty, to visit Brocket Hall. I hope that will provide a pleasant break for all of us."

“Very well, Lord Melbourne. We look forward to your next visit, when you perhaps can spare us more time."

“Indeed, ma’am,” Melbourne met her eyes and felt himself tingle at the warmth in them, warmth he felt down to his toes. Victoria looked at him so longingly he wanted to risk embracing her. "Soon, very soon."


	4. Chapter 4

“I look a hundred years old and as pale as a corpse!” Victoria groaned at the mirror. “I am so sick of wearing black!” Miss Skerrett, her dresser, ducked her head to conceal a smile but it was no good; Victoria met her eyes in the mirror and grinned back. “I know, you needn’t remind me, the color of my clothing is hardly a matter of importance.”

“Ma’am, I never...”

“Never mind, Miss Skerrett. But...can you acquire me some rouge? Lord M will attend this afternoon’s reception and he will think I’ve turned into a crone since last he saw me.”

“He will think no such thing, ma’am, he last saw you two days ago,” her maid protested, laughter in her voice.

“Nevertheless...I must look as well as I can at least. And not so _old_ as this dreadful dull black dress makes me feel.”

Miss Skerrett studied her mistress thoughtfully. Then, “you can’t wear jewels, ma’am, but I think some lace might do the trick.” She fetched a gossamer cloth shot through with fine silver threads and deftly arranged it. “A _mantilla_ , it’s called, ma’am. Spanish ladies wear them, I believe. And it’s considered quite proper for mourning.”

Victoria, surprised, studied the effect and decided she liked the softening effect as much as she did the sparkling silver thread, and appreciated the illusion of extra inches the comb added.

“You are a genius at your craft, Miss Skerrett. Whatever would I do without you?”

The girl ducked her head shyly, smiling. “Thank you, ma’am. I will have some rouge for you tomorrow, if you still think you need it.”

“Will you go to Brocket Hall with us for Christmas?” Victoria asked the young woman. “If you have family obligations I understand but…I do need you with me.” She paused hesitantly, then handed her a purse. “Of course, you would need to make it up to your family. And I would like to help.” Skerrett accepted the purse doubtfully.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t….”

“50£. Not your own end of year gift of course, just something extra to provide some gifts for your family. If that’s acceptable.”

“Oh, yes ma’am. Yes, of course I will attend you.”

 _Well-compensated servants have less need to accept bribes elsewhere_. Victoria wasn’t certain she liked his advice in this instance – would rather think she was surrounded by only those who loved her – but William insisted that was hardly a practical consideration when dealing with those whose loved ones outside the palace faced unimaginable hardship. It made her rather melancholy to think that even her most intimate servants depended on largesse and not loyalty alone.

“Good, then it’s settled, Miss Skerrett. Please see to my preparations yourself. It is to be a private visit.”

Melbourne stood to one side beside Palmerston in a row of minor dignitaries - Under Secretary of War Sir George Hope, several MPs from the home districts of those to be awarded medals – and watched as the Queen entered. Try as he might to keep his face expressionless, he knew he could not completely conceal the tenderness and pride he felt. Without looking around he knew that every man in the room felt some degree of the same emotion for their very young, beautiful sovereign. He’d once heard Wellington say that she made the country feel young again, and the old warrior made it clear that was a reflection of his own feelings.

 _Gloriana!_ The name came to him as it always did when he saw her in all her glory, radiating an incandescent glow, God’s anointed. _My bright, shining girl!_ The love of his life, keeper of his heart, his darling girl, but before all his magnificent Queen.

Equerry at one side, Lord Chamberlain at the other, she began the ritual of awarding medals. Even as she ran through the particulars of each injured soldier she was to honor, Melbourne saw her look up and back, searching for him in the crowd. When he caught her eye he nodded slightly and saw the tension leave her. Her face brightened as she refocused on the job at hand, smiling with sweet sincerity at each man in turn, taking her time with each. He knew he’d done that – without vanity, Melbourne accepted that he gave her the self-confidence she lacked, was humbled and honored that it was his to give.

From the first, Victoria had easily performed the scripted, ceremonial elements of her role – regal dignity and grace had been bred into her. And in small moments with her common subjects, she was natural and warm, able to make a connection, the interest she took in each of them apparent. That _Victoria Regina_ had made instant royalists for life out of battle hardened soldiers and burly charwomen.

Melbourne understood how much crippling shyness and insecurity had gripped her during the moments which fell somewhere in between. She at first relied on copious memorized notes, subtle prompts from her attendants and, Melbourne knew, his own example to make conversation at the receptions, levées, State dinners and balls, any occasion which required her to engage socially with members of the aristocracy. Melbourne had watched her blossom into a confident, self-possessed young woman over the past few years, and saw with more than moderate satisfaction that the harshest, most supercilious critics of the English aristocracy began to take real pride in the Camelot court of their young, vivacious Queen. Victoria's political savvy - both in Parliament and in the drawing room - still surprised even him on occasion.

To her noble courtiers the Queen was at first seen as a glittering figurehead, satisfactory for her public role but essentially naïve and unsophisticated, with none of the cleverness and ease of manner which would render any other young woman a success in society. Even accounting for their disinclination to discuss her in his presence, Melbourne knew that most of his acquaintances had initially been inclined viewed the Queen as nothing more than a porcelain statue, exquisite enough to be brought out for display and then put back on the shelf for safekeeping. His closest friends had once pitied him his status as indispensable royal favorite and nursemaid to a gauche teenager. Even Lord Holland's bold drawing room declaration that he found himself "a bit in love with the girl" appreciated only her fresh, youthful beauty and the grace with which she comported herself. Only a select few – Wellington, Palmerston, Greville - shared his early appreciation for the young woman who wore the crown and saw her for what she was, the most endlessly fascinating mind and character in the world.

But then, he thought, no one outside her private circle had known the private Alexandrina Victoria, the delightful, uninhibited girl, passionate in her likes, dislikes and enthusiasms; they had never heard her quick retorts and the easy banter she engaged when at ease, were never charmed by that silvery laugh or enchanting flirtatiousness, never appreciated the loveliness of her sweet unguarded expressions. Certainly, none had never melted under the unabashed devotion shining from her eyes she showed only to _him_. As she matured, Melbourne was more than content to stand aside and watch her shine, knowing that in some small way he'd contributed to the formation of this glorious creature he adored.

Melbourne shook off his musings, and watched as she concluded the formal ceremony and began her slow walk down the receiving line. He made his way along the perimeter of the room and discreetly joined the Queen’s escort, standing beside her Equerry. She would know he was there, would sense his presence several feet behind her and it would steady her as she greeted her guests. Victoria accepted each obeisance, holding out her hand, smiling prettily and conversed easily for a few minutes Melbourne knew the men and their families would cherish forever more.  

The merest hint of a smile tightened his mouth, as he pictured her in quite another setting, curled against him, sleeping in his arms or alight with passion. _Lèse-majesté_ certainly, the crime of violating the dignity of the person of the monarch, and while her dignity remained intact, he had most certainly violated her person in every delightful way possible. As though reading his mind, Victoria turned suddenly to look over shoulder at him and for just a flickering moment her expression softened into the unmistakable look of a woman in love.

When the reception ended and all guests had left the Queen disappeared through the rear entrance, to dispense with her court regalia. Melbourne loitered, taking his leave of his brother-in-law.

“You will loan me Em, to ready the Hall for guests?”

“Do I have a choice? Your sister is yours to command.” Melbourne laughed easily.

“You have that one the wrong way about, Henry. Emily rules us all, rather.”

“And I am expected to make one of your number?”

“Over Christmas, yes, of course. We will have a full house for Christmas week. The Queen will be traveling down earlier, for a quiet retreat. With her brother- and sister-in-law, the Duke and Duchess of Coburg-Saxe-Gotha.”

“Of course. And you think they can be trusted?”

“I trust no one when it comes to the Queen, Henry. I think they are _necessary_.”

Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston, nodded. “I hope you trust me, William. For Emily if for no other reason. Although…I confess to a great interest in being uncle-in-law to a King someday.”

“Neither of us will live that long, God willing. But if I predecease you, Prince Liam will need a protector.” Melbourne left much understood and unsaid.

“I believe you are summoned, William. I dine at the Palace tonight, so will see you later. Unless I can offer you a ride back to South Street?”

“No, I will leave after I’ve seen Her Majesty.”

“Behave, William. You are watched. _She_ is watched.”

Melbourne strolled over to join Baroness Lehzen, who was leading a troop of servants in cleaning up the great ceremonial space.

“Lord Melbourne, you will dine with us tonight,” Baroness Lehzen said briskly, as she made a tour of the nearly-empty reception area. “You are to go to the Queen’s music room until her guests start arriving.” Melbourne cocked an eyebrow at her quizzically.

“Is that a command, Baroness?” He asked teasingly, not expecting a response in kind. To his surprise, the Baroness’s broad plain face softened just a fraction.

“For us, you and I, any wish from the Queen is a command, is it not, Lord Melbourne?” She fussily adjusted the angle of a few side chairs, tsk’d at glasses set directly on lacquered tables and motioned at the servers scurrying about to put the room in order. “Look at that! Someone expectorated on the marble floor. _Beschmutzen_!”

 “If you wish to go to the nursery, you will find His Royal Highness most happy to see you, I think. And the princess, _ach_ , she is growing prettier every day. Like her mama, that one. Tiny but mighty!”

He smiled to himself, amused at how absurdly pleased he felt to have such a sign of approbation from a governess. “Thank you, Baroness. I will do that.”

The boy was playing quietly at a table in the large sunny nursery, and Melbourne stood quietly in the doorway watching him for a few moments. Almost three, William was to knowing eyes the very image of his father, so that it could have readily been him in the Reynolds painting, sandy curls, eyes the same shade of mossy green, features so exactly that of the middle boy in “Affectionate Brothers” that Melbourne’s family removed the famed portrait out of Emily’s town home to Brocket Hall. “ _It will be for the boy to decide when he’s grown whether to acknowledge his father,”_ Palmerston had judiciously counseled. Melbourne knew he was right, in fact could entertain no other possibility, but it still stung.

“Papa!” The little boy caught sight of him in the doorway and flung himself into Melbourne’s arms. He held the boy tightly, pressing his own face into the child’s shoulder to hide the tears in his eyes. This child – the future King – was blessedly so _right_ , with no hint of Augustus’ tormented, feeble mind. Surrounded by adoring adults, Liam was a sunny, happy child with an advanced vocabulary and sweet self-confidence. He was strong willed, as one might expect, and could argue persuasively, but always with perfect propriety and an endearing care for the feelings of those who served him.

He sat at the low table with his son and attentively followed the instructions he was given to collaborate on construction of a new stable for the wooden horses waiting patiently in their corral. Melbourne recollected how his older son at twenty lacked the skills of this child at three, to visualize, plan and execute a multi-step project and eloquently describe each action, directing his father’s careful stacking of brightly colored blocks. When one misplaced block toppled a wall and the little boy patted his hand reassuringly – “ _That’s all right, Papa. Just build it back up again. You’re doing good!”_ – Melbourne felt his heart swell with pride and love.

Too soon, they were interrupted by the sounds of baby Elizabeth stirring in her cradle and the nurse who had been sitting silently in a corner of the room rose to tend her.

“Miss Rosalie will take care of Elizabeth, Papa. We can continue building. We’re nearly done, look!” Melbourne turned back to his son as the nurse lowered her top and began feeding the three month old infant.

“Your Royal Highness, your mama is coming to see you. Come, we must make you ready.” Baroness Lehzen bustled in, taking fresh clothing from a bureau, pouring water for the child’s ablutions. As the nursery maid took over, Lehzen approached Melbourne.

“I received this letter and would like to discuss it with you, Lord Melbourne.” She slid the corner of an envelope from her commodious pocket.

“With me, Baroness?” Melbourne frowned slightly. “I would of course be honored to be of service, but…”

“I think you are the person to be advising me in this case. If I am wrong about that –“ She shrugged. “Then tell me and I will ask the Queen what I should do.” She removed the letter completely and handed it to Melbourne. He almost groaned audibly when he saw the hand and the frank. Lady Georgiana Seymour. “You may read it, sir. Please to tell me what she wants with me and how I should respond. I am not accustomed to English ladies seeking audiences with _me_ , you see.”

Melbourne scanned the few lines and took a deep breath. “Thank you for trusting me to advise you. May I consider the matter?” He saw the good Baroness hesitate, as though she needed to weigh his request. “You understand I don’t suggest you avoid telling the Queen, if that’s what you think is appropriate. Certainly, one of us should. I would like to spare you any…annoyance this might cause, and the Queen any distress. But I do intend to discuss the matter with her.”

“I think that is best, sir. I want to protect Drina, but keeping anything from her is not the way to go about it. That is the way the Duchess and Sir John ‘protected’ her and it only makes her angry and suspicious of all those around her.”

“Yes, Baroness, I am aware.” Melbourne sighed, resigned, and went to take his daughter from the wet-nurse.

When Victoria came into the nursery she was greeted by a homely, peaceful scene. Baroness Lehzen sat in an armchair knitting, while her young charges were both in their father’s arms. Melbourne held his daughter, entranced, watching her focus delightedly on her own hands as they waved about, reaching for his face, his cravat, anything the tiny fingers could grasp, and Prince William sat pressed against his father's side, describing the pages of a picture book he held.

A fire burned in the hearth, and the room was awash in the warm glow of a wintry sunset. The Queen smiled at the sight. Baroness Lehzen moved to stand, pushing aside her yarns; Victoria kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t get up, dear Lehzen.”

She bent over Melbourne’s shoulder, resting a hand on his neck, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Are you reading to Papa and sissy, Liam?”

She sat across from them on one end of the sofa, kicking off her slippers and drawing her legs up comfortably. “Mmmm….I don’t want to go back out there. This is nice." She paused. "You will come to dinner tonight, William."

“Dinner with….whom? I thought there was a moratorium on social engagements until after the funeral.”

“Only those Peel suggested, those who handled the investigation and those involved in planning the service.”

“I thought we agreed with Peel that I would limit my appearances for now?”

“We did and you are. Your _appearance_ tonight will hardly be considered remarkable. Why, you won’t even be considered _specially favored._ Just one of many at table.”

“Well, as long as I’m not _special_ , I suppose I might put in an appearance…” He teased back, knowing she could read the love and longing in his eyes, hoping it would reassure her.

“And it is to be brutally cold tonight. You will not ride back into town afterward.”

“Victoria – ma’am – if the others are expected to return, I will be expected to do so as well. Emily will take care I’m suitably bundled against the chill.”

“No!” He raised an eyebrow at her sharp raised tone. _Calm down, sweetheart,_ he thought but knew better than to say that aloud to any woman, far less this one.

“You will stay the night,” Victoria repeated in her most regal tone. She stood quickly. “I must go change for dinner. Lehzen, please take the children from Lord M so he may do likewise.”

Melbourne knew it was best to humor her in this mood. He kissed his son’s curly head and stroked his daughter’s cheek with one finger before handing her to the governess. She met his eyes for a moment, sharing a look of understanding – _yes, Drina can be imperious; what can we do?_ – and his own green eyes responded in kind, as close as he dared come to a smile.

Victoria waited for him in the hallway. “We can talk in my apartment,” she said simply. Once inside and sure they were alone, her stiff carriage softened and she turned suddenly, pressing herself against him.

“I’m sorry…I should not have spoken to you like that. But it was only Lehzen who heard me. You know I would never talk to you like a-“

“Harpy? Fishwife?” He offered, smiling, putting his arms around her waist, looking down at her sweet upturned face, lips poised for a kiss.

“Something like that. Or rather, how about the woman who loves you and has not been alone with you in a week?”

“You haven’t counted the hours? Minutes? I am wounded.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed each corner of her mouth, her temples, the tender spot under her ear and finally, when she sighed heavily, full on her ripe opened lips. His kiss was long and deep; they breathed in each other hungrily, almost desperately. Finally he lifted his head.

“What _is_ this thing? May I remove it before I lose an eye?” He was rewarded with that sweet giggle he adored.

“A _mantilla_ , my maid tells me. The comb lifts it and makes me look taller, don’t you think?”

“Er…yes, I scarcely recognized you, towering over us.” He fumbled with the lace and long-toothed comb, earning an _ouch_ for his efforts. Finally the thing was loose and he tossed it away, then set to work removing each pin from her hair until it tumbled loose to her shoulders.

“Now your maid will have to redo your hair for dinner, hopefully without that cocks’ comb headpiece. I don’t want you taller. I prefer you fitting just here.” He drew her tightly to him once more and rested his chin on her head. “See? You fit perfectly just so.”

They stood that way for several minutes, unmoving, her arms around his back and his gripping her waist. When she lifted her head it was to look in his face with a saucy smile. “We have ample time before our guests arrive…” He felt her hands stray to his front, her thumbs tracing circles against him, lower, lower...

Melbourne looked down at the girl in his arms, knowing he had to be the voice of caution. Had they enough time? Were they unobserved or were servants even now lurking in one of those mysterious back passages only they knew, ready to report back to whomever paid them sufficiently? As though reading his thoughts – _and perhaps she was; they were that attuned to each other_ – Victoria pouted.

“I don’t _care_ who knows!” She suggestively ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, her eyes hooded, and lifted her chin in challenge.

“Then I must care for you, sweetheart.” Melbourne lifted her chin and struggled to make his expression serious in spite of the effectiveness of her attempted seduction.

“Later…after our guests leave – I said _our_ guests – you will come to me. And spend the night in my bed. For now, let me…?” She rested her fingers at his waist and looked at him beseechingly. Seeing assent he hadn’t intended to give, she allowed her fingers further exploration. At her first brush against his anticipatory erection he felt such a jolt of pure need he had to steady himself. Every iota of his being craved her touch, wanted, needed to let her free him, to feel those soft eager fingers on him.

“Not now.” He gently took her hands away and held them up, kissing the palms. In response she pressed herself against him, gently moving her hips until he groaned audibly. “Not now,” he repeated.

“Yes, now,” Her voice was so sultry and seductive he shivered and pressed her against him, stilling the movement of her hips with his hands.

The door to her bedchamber opened suddenly.

“Your Majesty – oh!” The girl bobbed a curtsy and backed up.

“Ma’am, I will leave you to dress for dinner. Is this to be a State event, or will protocol allow me to escort you in?” He stepped back just enough to break their contact; she swayed towards him but didn’t attempt to restrain him. 

“You will escort me in. If you please. You will sit beside me. If you please.” Melbourne allowed a small smile, appreciating her low, husky tone of frustrated desire.

He bowed and left her.

At dinner Victoria performed. That was all he could call it, her smooth glassine smile and few, carefully chosen words to those nearest her at table. Melbourne himself, from long years’ experience in society, could converse easily with everyone, and his seat at her right hand allowed him to smoothly fill any conversational gaps, drawing her in with subtle prompts. He’d rather she remain generally subdued – forgivable in a new widow – than indulge in the paradoxical giddiness which sometimes compensated for her unease. This evening she had a sympathetic enough audience, only the few strangers to whom Peel had extended courtesy invitations. Victoria wore her abundant dark hair piled high on her head, laced through with fine silver filigree, and her black brocade gown bared both creamy shoulders so her neck was extended. He ached to kiss her just _there_ , in the hollow of her shoulder, and again _there_ , behind her ear, and amused himself while discussing harvests in the south by a vision of doing just that. She attended to him so keenly that she was able to respond at each opening he provided. Melbourne mused that like dancing and lovemaking, he and his lovely protégée were so attuned she followed his lead in conversation without conscious thought. _We are a good pairing_ , he reflected. _My age and experience perfectly balance her youth and inexperience. I want nothing for self or party or special interest. Only this, the chance to love and serve her. Why then must it all be so complicated?_

Commissioner Rowan and his wife, no strangers to polite society, still lingered in the Queen’s drawing room far past the time any civilized person would have taken their leave of the sovereign. Melbourne yawned and shifted position many times, sorely tempted to remove his shoes and prop his feet on an ottoman just to see whether that budged the fellow. Beside him, Victoria had lapsed into long silences interspersed with her most regal monosyllabic responses. Lady Portman had abandoned her efforts to guide drawing room conversation and the Duchess of Kent had provided the obligatory State room tour. Under Secretary Hope and his wife and Lord and Lady Stanhope had taken their leave an hour past, generally the acknowledged signal that a party was breaking up. As the clock ticked past midnight Emma finally rose and apologetically made excuses for the Queen.

“Her Majesty is as yet in mourning and does not keep late hours. We will bid you good night now.” Finally, Melbourne thought – _finally!_ – the gauche couple rose in unison. They made their bows to the Queen as she was led out, and Rowan turned to those guests remaining.

“It’s a beastly cold night out there, and a long ride back to town. Lord Palmerston, Lord Melbourne, do you return to the City tonight? Or do you stay at the Palace?”

Emily Temple lifted a brow and laughed easily. “As godparents to the Princess Royal, we do sometimes stay in our apartment here of course. On _family_ occasions. As does dear Prince Ernst, another godfather to the royal children. But thank you for your concern. I’m sure your carriage will be supplied with hot bricks.”

Melbourne listened appreciatively to his sister, a notable _haut ton_ hostess well able to damper pretension from social climbers such as these. Or spies, he knew not which. _Perhaps both_.

When the Rowans had finally departed Melbourne faced his sister, who took charge.

“Henry, go give the order for those hot bricks I mentioned. I will not ride in an icy carriage," she ordered her husband.

“Go bid the Queen good night, William. I will wait. Pray give her my love as her sister and reassure her that I _do understand_. Remind her that I was in her same position just a few years ago. Fanny and William will ever be Cowpers, not Temples. Such is the society in which we all must live. Now – go! And return promptly.”

Victoria paced in her night gown, hair streaming down her back. She turned sharply when she heard him come in.

“You came! Oh, I was so afraid you would not—“ She threw herself into his arms.

“I came to say good night, my dear. I go back with Emily.” He wrapped her in his arms. “You must get in bed before you catch a chill. Come, let me tuck you in.” Victoria allowed herself to be led to the great State bed and sat back against her pillows as he drew up the covers. Melbourne saw tears sparkling on her lashes, though she would not look at him.

“Victoria, you can’t imagine I want to leave you. Do you? Look at me.” He lifted her chin firmly. “Oh my precious, precious girl! A man would be a fool indeed to choose to leave you, and I am no fool.” He traced the neckline of her gown with one finger, dipping where it fell away from her cleavage. “Beautiful!” He leaned forward and kissed her chastely, while allowing one hand to cup her breast. “You are my life!”

“Then stay with me!” He saw his Queen, pleading, pouting, and his heart twisted painfully.

“Not tonight. But we go to Brocket Hall after the funeral and there – two weeks, my love – we will live as we should. As man and wife.” He sighed, and rose. “Now wish me a good night.”

“My feet get cold without you in bed!” She spluttered, laughing despite her disappointment.

“Ah! So that explains your desire for a man of my years in your bed! Cold feet.”

“You are not _old_ and I insist you stop saying that. You are the most handsome, most desirable man in the world and I am a silly girl. And _short!_ And German, to boot.” Victoria got to her knees and laid her face against his waistcoat. Melbourne stroked her hair in silence.

“You are silly indeed, if you think any of those other things. Mrs. Melbourne.” He lifted the hand wearing his ring and kissed it. “Good night, my love.

“You will be here early? For the —?”

“You know I will. Look for me; I will be there.”

“I wish you could be at my side. Where you should be, always.”

“At your husband’s funeral?” He thought to win a smile but instead she scowled. Melbourne relented and swept her up in his arms once more. “Yes. Albert would have wanted that, I know. He was fond of you in his way and Lord knows paid the price for the ridiculous judgmental natures that surround us. Soon, my love. Now wish me good night.”

“Good night, Lord M. Please – please don’t forget me.”

“As if I could, ma'am…” He murmured softly.


	5. Chapter 5

Victoria did not anticipate she would sleep the night before her husband’s funeral. She had felt consumed by manic energy for the past week. She’d insisted on being apprised of every detail of the death investigation and aftermath, on planning every detail of the funeral, and as the hours and days passed, was aware of a niggling sense that there was something else she should do, was _expected_ to do, was _failing to do,_ but she couldn’t identify what that was. Those around her spoke with deference beyond even the demands of protocol and seemed to want to coddle her in a way that was quite annoying. What troubled her most was the realization that everything she valued in life hung on the precipice. When they took Lord M away – for that was how it felt, in the most desperately childlike terms – her control nearly crumbled. Something beyond words swirled through her, a visceral sense that  her very existence, certainly her sanity, was threatened by his removal, and it was that desperate anguished need, dependency even, she had struggled with for so long. Hating the need. Hating herself for not feeling whole without him. _You can do this_ , _Your Majesty_ , he said. _I’m not going_ far, ma’am, he said. _It won’t be forever. You’re not losing me, sweetheart_ , he said.

She was excused so much, and that in itself was an affront somehow. When the veneer of control cracked and her eyes filled with tears, her voice turned suddenly shrill, those around her exchanged understanding nods.  When her frenetic activity turned suddenly to giddiness and she laughed too loudly, moved too swiftly, those same looks of understanding. _No! You don’t understand! Don’t pretend you do! Just give me my_ life _back. I don’t like things feeling so out of control!_

Lehzen’s soothing, nurturing warmth only irritated her nerves. Her ministers’ obsequiousness was servile pandering, as though she were at risk of becoming as mad as her grandfather and must be soothed at all costs. Even _his_ demeanor, so remote in company, so careful and _reasonable_ in private, felt like a slap, rebuking her for wanting to see that he was as affected as she was by this enforced separation.

 _If I cannot marry who I want when I want I am not sovereign of this nation, I am its hostage!_ She’d snapped when he explained once more the need to observe a year of mourning. _You don’t_ want _to marry me. You never did. That’s why all of this happened!_ Even as she lashed out, Victoria wanted to swallow the words back down as much as she needed to expel them. _You don’t care! You don’t need me as I need you. You don’t care that we must be apart. You have your life to return to – out there – with your friends and your –_ She couldn’t continue, couldn’t name the thing she feared, that finally he was freed to return to his sophisticated mistresses who laughed at the gauche little Queen locked in her palace. He didn’t argue with her, he soothed her, or attempted to, comforting meaningless words in soft tones she received with a sense that he was already edging towards the door.

The evening before the funeral, with the Palace full of visiting royalty, Victoria stayed in her rooms. Her Ladies-in-Waiting flocked about uselessly until Victoria dismissed all but Lady Portman, whose acerbic manner and lack of overt sensibility exactly suited her need to escape the cloying attentions of everyone else.

It was Emma who suggested tincture of laudanum to help the Queen rest. “Ma’am, I think you have not slept a full night since the incident. You must rest. Let the physician dose you. I will stay here and make sure you are not troubled.” _I don’t want to sleep,_ Victoria thought, consumed by a sense she must be vigilant lest something else happen if she were not watchful.

“Where do you think William is tonight? What do you think he is doing, Emma?” Victoria hated asking the question, hated herself for asking it as she did every evening he was not with her. Lady Portman admirably concealed any reaction she might have and answered matter-of-factly, as though she would quite naturally have precise information on her old friend’s whereabouts.

“Probably dining with his sister, ma’am. He and Palmerston will be arriving quite early tomorrow, before the barricades are up.”

“You don’t think he is out at – at some social function? A dinner party or - -“

“Hardly, ma’am. The country is in mourning. No functions are being held. Everything I’m aware of has been cancelled out of respect for His late Highness.”

“Even…private functions, Emma? I’m sure people still entertain privately in their homes…?” Lady Portman’s mouth tightened and she spoke as sharply as she would to a daughter.

“Ma’am, William is not of a mind to attend any _private social functions_. You must stop such thoughts when they occur. No man wants to be constantly under suspicion.” Victoria opened her mouth as if to speak and Emma had a brief glimpse of _the Queen_ before the troubled woman returned. Victoria felt perversely comforted by such blunt talk. _Emma is his friend, but I think she is mine too, a little._

“If you won’t take laudanum, ma’am, shall we have some brandy instead?” Victoria did not customarily take strong spirits and she briefly recollected that the last time she'd been offered brandy it was also by Emma Portman. She nodded assent and accepted the glass she was handed gratefully. She made a face at the first sip, but took another and was aware of a loosening in her muscles and spreading warmth not unlike how she felt when _he_ was with her.

Lady Portman kept her glass judiciously filled, thinking that if true sleep was not possible, anything which relaxed the young Queen was advantageous. She’d been wound as tight as a watch spring this past week and liable to snap unexpectedly without some release. They sat in comfortable silence, exchanging only the merest commonplaces, for a long while. Gradually, she saw the Queen’s lids grow heavy and her excellent posture relax into a languorous pose.

“Emma…do you think I’m an awful person? Or just a very selfish, stupid girl?” Lady Portman arched a brow, grateful she had not emptied her own glass with the same regularity she’d refilled the Queen’s - she'd need her wits sharp to serve the volatile Queen tonight. _Best to say nothing_..

“You realize of course – I know everyone does, who _knows_ – that Albert would not be dead if I hadn’t decided to marry him.” Victoria’s tone was quite casual, without particular emotion, as though simply indulging speculation on some remote event. She felt compelled to finally get it out, admit her complicity in her husband’s death. Maybe then the horrible _wrongness_ of everything could be righted.

“Ma’am, I think His Highness had some say in the matter. You hardly married him against his will,” Lady Portman replied reasonably. _No,_ Victoria thought, _let me explain and you’ll_ see _how wickedly selfish and prideful I am._

“Oh but I knew exactly what I was doing, or thought I did. Do you know how our marriage came about?”

“I believe – your marriage was encouraged  by both your families? It was thought you and he would make a good match and, I believe, would be favorable to the interests of the King of Belgium.”

“Yes – no – I mean, what passed between us privately? When I asked Albert to marry me he refused. He said he did not want to be married. I was – I thought it was quite funny, actually. I was supposed to be the biggest matrimonial catch in Europe, yet I’d been turned down by two men before I was twenty.”

Lady Portman’s expression showed the merest hint of surprise. “Twice, ma’am?”

“You know. I know you know that when we went to Brocket Hall that day, I went to ask William to marry me. And he refused. Please don’t prevaricate. I’m sure you suspected, and I’m equally sure he told you at some point.” Lady Portman deemed it politic to avoid a direct answer.

“I did not know the prince had refused you,” she said instead.

“Oh yes. He explained how it was, that he – did not wish to marry any woman, that he desired the companionship of men. I do not shock you, I know. I think everyone close to us knows.

“He had the intention of returning to Bonn, where he went to University, and getting a position there. Teaching. Writing. Doing…science, I suppose. _You_ know how intellectually inclined he is – _was._ ” Victoria hiccupped once, twice. “He would have been happy there, I think. He said that there were others such as himself, that it was more accepted there than in society. Yes, I think he would have been happy there. His – the man he loved then, George, was already a graduate student and had received an invitation to teach architecture and design. George did not want to come to England, nor did he want to have a clandestine affair with the husband of the Queen. Knowing they would be watched as though they were doing something shameful.” Victoria sighed, and Lady Portman darted a glance at her, gauging her emotional state. The Queen still looked only pensive, thoughtful, but at least that hard brittle edge was gone.

“But I persuaded Albert that marrying me, he would not have to sever ties with his family, with his brother and father and uncle, which would have happened if he had chosen another path. Then, he would have perhaps seen Ernst periodically, but only in secret. As it was with their mother. So…he agreed, finally. He understood why I wanted the marriage and was quite agreeable. _That_ was never an issue.

From the moment he agreed – when he abandoned his plans, and made a decision that would alter the course of his life – I expected, hoped, prayed that it would not have to be. That _he_ – that William would stop me, would come to me and…take back everything he said at Brocket Hall, would agree to marry me and face the consequences together. So you see, even though I was _almost_ honest with Albert, I never told him that if I had the chance I would gladly, gratefully, break our engagement, humiliate him in front of our family and the world. So even then I used him.

It didn’t happen, of course. William did not come to me, did not implore me to abandon my plans and marry him. Did not even say he cared for me as I did him, not really. Oh Emma, you were there that day, you _know_ how awful it was for me. I had declared myself, had _thrown_ myself at his head and he said he cared only for the memory of his wife. I had lost – thought I’d lost – the only man I ever loved, _could ever love._ But because of the awkwardness, I’d also lost my best friend, my confidant, the only person I could imagine turning to for solace – if it hadn’t been him who inflicted the hurt. Do you understand how alone I felt?”

Lady Portman exerted every ounce of will she had to keep her features calm and placid. _I do not want to hear this, I do not want to hear this, I should not hear this_ – the refrain ran through her mind while she nodded pleasantly to her sovereign. Now Victoria was letting down her guard and it felt like such a relief. Tears streamed down her face unnoticed, her nose ran, her voice was hoarse and ragged.

“I was hurt but I was also humiliated. Utterly completely humiliated. It is no excuse, only an explanation, but that humiliation – not love, not heartbreak alone, I confess – is what motivated me to marry Albert, even before he arrived. He could have had two heads or been a – a pygmy – and I would have offered to wed him. I had to show everyone – Lord M, you, myself – that I was unaffected by anything that happened at Brocket that day. That it was only a – a lark, a whim. Else how could I ever face him again? I would have had to hate William, to banish him, do you understand? It was – in order to maintain even a friendship with him under those circumstances, I had to recover my dignity the only way I could, by marrying elsewhere and quickly. It was only after Albert accepted – and actually, because of something _you_ said, Emma – that the rest occurred to me.” Even now, more than three years on, the burn of that humiliation, of offering her heart and her hand in marriage and being refused, stung. It rose in her throat like bile and made Victoria want to run away, or to claw her face to ribbons so it reflected the shame inside. _My penance_ , she thought _, my penance is to own that humiliation and sacrifice my pride_ , _pride which put Albert in his coffin._

“I, ma’am? Whatever could that have been?” Lady Portman’s tone only quavered slightly. The Queen paused to empty her glass, and held it up expectantly, a gesture Lady Portman ignored, unwilling to pour any further. A completely intoxicated Queen, a widow reeling from the effects of her first real experience of inebriation at the funeral, was not something for which she wanted to shoulder the blame.

“Yes, you. We’d been discussing William and you mentioned that his mother, Lady Elizabeth, had had children by several gentlemen other than her husband. And that it was quite acceptable, even respectable, as long as one was discreet and one’s husband did not object.

I think I would have cried off, before any formal announcement of our engagement, if that hadn’t made me see that William and I still could be together. I knew, I _thought_ , I _hoped_ , that he desired me and his sense of duty and wish to avoid scandal prompted his refusal and if that was the case, then my marriage to Albert would answer perfectly. We couldn’t be together without my marriage to _someone_ – the country needed an heir and if I had a child without _any_ husband there would be gossip –“

Lady Portman bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, and almost prevented the sharp quick burst of laughter which came out disguised as a cough. The absurd naiveté of the Queen’s statement would have been endearing, almost, if it wasn’t so patently ridiculous and served as a reminder that the Queen had been only nineteen, and a very young nineteen, raised in isolation with no experience of worldly society. _Oh, William!_ she thought, _if only you had confided in me then! You could have wed, and it would have been accepted, we could have managed to bring the thing off. Why didn’t you trust the many friends on both sides of the aisle who hold you in such high esteem?_

“I do not make excuses for myself, Emma. What I am trying to say is, I know that my _pride_ , nothing except my humiliation and my _pride_ , ruined all our lives and killed Albert.”

The dam burst then, and she cried in earnest, sobbing in deep painful bursts, curling in on herself, wrapping her arms about her middle and letting the tears stream down. Lady Portman, not prone to sentimentality or an excess of emotion herself, nonetheless felt acutely such distress. Unbidden, she recollected the only other time she’d borne witness to such extreme sorrow, and that was when cousin Caro had been discarded by the poet. _William, dear William, how do you find yourself caught up in the tangle of these fragile wounded birds? All you’ve ever claimed to want is a serene existence, and yet…_ Lady Portman knew her own shortcomings well, and one was an utter repugnance of the sort of casual physical affection which in another, warmer woman would come naturally. Still, she knew her duty and moved to sit beside the young woman, laid a hand on her shoulder. Thankfully the Queen did not avail herself. Rather than throwing herself on the older woman’s shoulder she turned farther away.

 _Her pride,_ Emma Portman thought now, _will rise once more, later, when she remembers this and has to face me knowing I saw her humble herself. And_ I _will pay that particular penalty._ She wanted to cloak herself in customary, comfortable cynicism and restraint, but instead, uncharacteristically, Emma opened her heart.

“Ma’am, everything you’re saying, everything you’re feeling…I am honored that you unburdened yourself to me. I must tell you that it’s bunkum. You’ve had a great shock in the Prince’s death, and another in this business of needing to have William out of the Palace when you need him most. You haven’t had much sleep and haven’t, I think, talked about any of this with anyone until now. Not even William?” Victoria sniffled and shook her head, looking at Lady Portman, curious as to what she might say. “You were fond of the Prince? Yes, of course you were. I saw you larking about as though you were brother and sister. He was most protective of you, and you enjoyed each other’s company. He was your cousin. _You have lost a dear friend and you have not given yourself a chance to grieve that loss for exactly what it is._ Everything you accuse yourself of is just noise that your mind is making, to keep you from feeling _sad_. And maybe, you think you have no right to mourn him in your heart, because you only loved him as a friend, not a husband? More bunkum.

His Highness seemed as happy as – well, I suspect he would never have been a cheerful personality, whatever his station in life, but he seemed happy in his life here. Without the freedom to follow his own desires - freedom you gave him, ma'am - he would have been a cold, bitter, deeply unhappy man all his life, and made everyone else around him unhappy too. And who knows but that his family wouldn't have found him another bride, some young woman who would not have understood and accepted him, who would have spent her life in misery too. You see? There's no way to change one thing without everything else altering in ways we cannot know.

Your Majesty, the Prince not only tolerated your relationship with William, from what I saw he _liked_ him and admired him greatly and enjoyed his own friendship with him. That is not a man who was in any way deceived into marriage. His death? A drunken man shooting another, an innocent man, happens every day, everywhere. Such a thing could happen in Bonn – they drink in university towns, I think? – or Vienna or Paris as easily as London.

As for the other notions you take into your head – ma’am, I have known William Lamb for more than…well, for most of my life. Look at me, ma’am –“ Aghast at her own boldness, Lady Portman lifted the little chin and forced her sovereign – just a girl, like any other, after all – to look directly at her. “He is a man and that comes with a fair share of foolishness we women must tolerate, but he loves you with his whole heart. You did not humiliate yourself at Brocket Hall. You showed great courage in declaring yourself because you knew William could not be the one to do so. You gave your heart to a man who had already given you his own. He loved you then and he loves you now and he will adore you for the rest of his days. As for the rest, 'this too shall pass'. But I will give some thought to how we can arrange things so that he does not have to live entirely away during this year. Now,” Emma handed her a snowy handkerchief. “Blow your nose and let’s have your maid bring you some rosewater to bathe your face. Shall I call for Baroness Lehzen to put you to bed?”


	6. Chapter 6

They had arrived late, after midnight. As promised, William had whisked her out of Windsor as soon as was decently possible after the funeral. The others would by necessity arrive early the following week – for William would be hosting them all over Christmas - and then Brocket Hall would be bursting at the seams, as commodious as it was, but for now they were as close to alone as they could be.

Ostensibly she was accompanied by her Mistress of the Robes and chief Lady-In-Waiting, along with Lady Jocelyn. In point of fact, Emma Portman had gone to her own home, adjacent Brocket Hall, and Fanny Jocelyn joined her mother - William’s sister Emily - at the nearby estate Viscount Palmerston had leased for the season. So for those long, delightful days they were quite alone, a state of affairs Victoria had never before experienced.

They slept late and stayed abed long into the morning, only dressing in time to venture downstairs for luncheon. Victoria gleefully dispensed with corsets and stiffened petticoats, even stockings, insisting on such simple dresses her maid had hemmed one of her own, an oft-washed dove grey cotton worn so thin it was soft to the touch and clung to her hips and legs.

William likewise dressed simply, looking most pleasing to Victoria in open necked shirts with sleeves turned back past his forearms and tight riding breeches with soft leather boots. Like simple gentry folk, Victoria was amused to imagine. As he went over long-neglected estate paperwork, both for Brocket and the far-distant Melbourne Hall, he talked, reminiscing, telling stories of his childhood and his Coke forebears as well as his Egremont connections and even anecdotes which included his late wife. Victoria listened eagerly, as she always had to Lord M, anxious to devour every bit of his marvelous complex history. Unattended by all save the elderly butler and housekeeper, both of whom looked at her with such kindness, Victoria found the courage to indulge those little gestures she’d so often imagined, letting her fingers comb through that thick head of mussed curls, laying a hand on the back of his neck as she leaned over him. The first time she’d dared do such a thing unbidden he’d looked up at her with a warm expression she was emboldened to continue. She realized it was only the rare isolation which permitted such small intimacies - even if, no when, they were married queens did not behave thus when surrounded by a palace full of servants and courtiers - but for the present Victoria was determined to take full advantage of her freedom from protocol.

Likewise, William was more demonstrative, stroking her arm absently as he read, reaching for her hand even as they walked from room to room, lifting her long hair - worn loose in this atmosphere of informality - to kiss her in the soft hollow behind an ear.

They had made love every night since they’d arrived, and twice during the day, once right in his library, William showing her how to lift her skirts and lower herself over him as he sat in his favorite armchair, both of them laughing with the awkwardness of it until they reached that point in their passion when laughter faded into soft groans and serious inward-looking expressions. Afterward as she slumped forward, resting her forehead on his, she’d seen his eyes were shining with unshed tears. When she looked at him questioningly he’d stroked her cheek tenderly and whispered “Only because I never imagined this much happiness, sweetheart” and Victoria thought her heart would burst with love for this wonderful man.

They discussed Albert as well, and that led William to examine the sequence of unlikely events that had brought them together, Victoria and her Prime Minister. At any juncture in his long life and her much shorter one a single event, his mother’s determination to see him in politics after Peniston’s early death, Byron’s intervention and Caro’s decline, Victoria’s uncles’ failure to produce legitimate heirs, any deviation and they never would have found each other. William opined there was a thread of inexorable fate running through all of it that brought them together and made him more convinced in Almighty intervention than anything else possibly could. Victoria only shuddered as she listened, imagining how bleak her life would have been without this man, her heart, her soul.

On the afternoon of what they knew to be their last day alone together they had unexpected visitors. Emma Portman and Emily Temple, Melbourne’s dear friend and his sister, called. Hodges, the butler, tapped discreetly on the door to the library and waited until he was told to enter. Victoria smoothed her skirts and drew a light shawl around her shoulders, assuming the mantle of remote dignity she’d shed for the duration of her stay.

Each lady made their curtsy and greeted their Queen, as proper, before greeting William. He invited them to sit, and Victoria smothered a smile, seeing brother and sister playact formalities for her benefit.

“Your guests will arrive by noon tomorrow, William. The Hall should be ready to receive them unless you’ve put everything in disarray since you’ve been here,” Emily said crisply.

“Why yes, Em, we’ve been playing shuttlecocks in the corridors and I’m afraid Victoria has completely depleted the provisions you laid in. She is quite insatiable.” Victoria twinkled back at him, grateful for his effort to dispel his sister’s air of formality. She wanted desperately for his sister to approve of and bless their union and never felt entirely confident in her presence. She understood Emily’s protectiveness of her brother, and what must appear to be the precariousness of this atypical relationship, but it only amplified Victoria’s natural insecurities.

“With your permission, I’ll meet with Mrs. Hodges and go over the menus. I’ll be sending Fanny with extra housemaids in the morning. Your Majesty, did you find your suite arranged to your satisfaction?” Victoria blushed.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Victoria responded softly, trying to keep her tone devoid of the icy hauteur which tended to slip in any time she felt ill at ease. “It was lovely.”

“And the nursery, ma’am? Is there anything else the children will need?” Victoria looked doubtfully at William.

“You didn’t take her through the nursery yet? William! Please do so at once so we have time to alter anything which should be changed. Ma’am, there is an adjoining chamber for your governess but I’m afraid we had to put your wet nurse in the servant’s wing. Go, now, while I am in the kitchens.”

“I haven’t seen it myself yet. Em cleaned out the space and ordered everything,” He explained as they entered the family wing. Victoria heard a note of reticence and grasped his meaning. She stopped walking and looked up at him, troubled and feeling vaguely guilty.

“Did - was it - ?” She stumbled over the words.

“This apartment has been the family nursery for generations, so of course Emily quite rightly made it ready for our children. The space had been untouched since Augustus died. He’d never moved out of the nursery, even as an adult. We only added a larger bed. He preferred familiarity in his surroundings, you see. Required it, actually.” He smiled reassuringly. “It’s as it should be. If my older son had lived he would have moved into his own apartment to make way for his brother and sister in the nursery. He might have quite liked knowing Liam and Elizabeth.”

Victoria hung back as he threw open the doors to a large, sun-drenched space, freshly painted, with a charming mural on one wall. “Come. Do you like it?” Victoria hesitantly walked about, smiling at small touches which seemed to indicate Emily’s desire to please her nephew and niece at least. She could see a blend of old and new furnishings, an antique cradle draped with pale pink hangings, a new small bed and old, wonderfully restored rocking chair. Low bookshelves held some well-worn volumes as well as an assortment of beautifully illustrated newer books.

“She saved the books as I asked her to. I used to read to Augustus until sleep came, as I do Liam.” He reached for her and drew her to his side, kissing the top of her head.

“What do you think?” He gestured around him. To Victoria he looked both hopeful and touched with melancholy and she searched his face.

“Oh yes, it’s lovely, thank you,” She answered, feeling almost shy.

“Please don’t thank me. This is your home, Victoria, and I hope you will think of it as such. If you tell Emily you are happy with it, I know she will be content.”

After finding Emily in the kitchen, deep in conversation with the housekeeper and two cooks, Melbourne asked Lady Portman to fetch Victoria a warm cloak and took his old green coat from a hook in the mudroom.

“We will take a turn about the park, if you please,” Melbourne explained. “While the ground is frozen and dry, before snow turns it all into a bog.” He buttoned her cloak and turned up the hood, gently brushing back her loose hair. Victoria looked back at their guests, but William seemed unconcerned at the prospect of giving offense by such an unceremonious departure. “Come. We’ll be back long before Emily is done harassing the staff and Emma can divert Hodges by making sure refreshments are waiting when we return.”

Once outside and walking briskly, Victoria found the cold air and warm sun quite invigorating and she easily kept pace, her hand resting lightly on William’s arm. The trees were mostly bare, with only a few patches of brilliant red and orange left from the blazing autumn color. As they walked, Melbourne pointed out various sights, the greenhouses and dormant planting beds, a pond nearly frozen over and the small stream which bisected the park. When they came to an arching stone bridge, she recognized the route they were taking.

“Are we – is this where--?”

“Yes, ma’am. The rookery is ahead. I’m afraid I quite abandoned my feathered friends after that day, so they’re no longer accustomed to human presence. But I think we shall be able to see some if we’re quite  still.”

Coming to the stone fountain Victoria remembered so vividly, he stopped and turned to face her in a near re-creation of that long-ago day.

“Shhh,” he said, looking up at the treetops. “You’ll see them circle back around to be sure we mean no harm.”

She leaned in close enough to feel his warmth and followed his gaze, looking up at the bright blue December sky and the black birds circling about, drawing closer each time.

“Tell me what you remember about that day?” He asked her quietly, lifting her hands to his lips.

“I…I was so frightened but at the same time so sure. I was never more sure of anything in my life and it gave me a kind of clarity. And then…then you told me…that you loved only your wife, that like a rook you mated for life and had no use for my heart.” Victoria felt tears come unbidden, filling her eyes, the searing pain of that day so real as it came flooding back.

“And do you understand now, that it was the hardest thing I ever had to do, to turn you away?” Victoria looked into those green eyes and saw the love there, and also the urgency. “It may have been misguided. But what I said, I said out of love for you, to protect you, or so I thought.” He shook his head ruefully. “Would I do it differently, if I could go back in time? Probably. I hope so. The moment you turned and walked away…you squared your shoulders and held your head high and I thought then I had lost the last chance I had for happiness. Seeing you walk away tore my heart in half.

Please tell me you understand that it was a falsehood, that already I loved you completely, that you had _my_ heart without reservation. If you can never forgive me the rest, the hurt I caused you that day, please tell me at least you knew it was a lie.”

Victoria turned her face up to him, his eyes burning into her, those wonderful green eyes she felt she could drown in and thought, finally, she could answer honestly that she knew it had been a falsehood, had sensed it as soon as the pain subsided. She nodded, unable to speak.

Still holding her hands, he knelt in his usual courtier’s elegant genuflection and Victoria thought for a moment he meant to kiss her hand and address her as his sovereign.

“Victoria, you asked me then, in your way. Now…I will ask you. It is a breach of protocol of course, but I hope you will excuse me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Victoria’s mouth dropped open in an O of surprise, as she saw him waiting for her response, not assuming, not going through the motions but genuinely, patiently awaiting an answer.

“Oh yes, William Lamb. Yes, yes, I will marry you.” He rose and, tipping her head up, kissed her. When he finally drew back, both of them were breathless.

“Now we’ve exorcised the past from this beautiful place and perhaps you can come to love it like I do,” he whispered, tucking her hand in his arm. Together, they looked up and watched the rooks. When he finally spoke, it was in a low intimate tone, his lips close to her ear.

“And when we return to Court, I will stand behind you and devil take anyone who gets in our way.”

“Thank you for asking me. I was never sure, even now, that you wanted to marry me, with all that entails. I know it won’t be easy, and I understand there will be opposition from some quarters, but we have friends now, William, you have more friends than you know.” Victoria pushed herself against him, craving his warmth and his strength.

“Peel and his crowd have promised their support for a public announcement after a year of mourning,” He reminded her.

“Yes, but how I hope the year passes quickly!”

“A public ceremony, as befitting a Queen, albeit a widowed Queen marrying a widower. Not large, unless you wish it, but it must be a public ceremony, so there is no doubt we are wed before the world,” he continued.

“I don’t care, large or small, I only want to be your wife!”

“And if we could be married in a _very_ private ceremony sooner, without public announcement…?”

“ _Could_ we? How?”

“We could. I have procured a special license and if you wish – only if you are certain – we can be married immediately. Tonight, if you wish.” Melbourne studied her gravely, until he was sure of the unmitigated hope he saw in her face.

“A special license? Is that possible?”

“It is, ma’am. We have a retired vicar who lives in the village, and relies on a pension I provide. I have a special license for William Lamb and Victoria Kent, all quite legal and above board. There is no legal or religious barrier preventing our marriage. But I leave it up to you. We would still have to be cautious and observe the proprieties when we return to London…but we would return as man and wife.”

The sun was sinking in the west when they returned to the Hall, and candles burned brightly in every window. Lady Portman waited for them with a watchful expression, and Lady Palmerston stood behind her solemnly. The chandeliers had been lit, fires laid in every hearth, and Brocket Hall looked warm and inviting.

“Emily, Emma, you will stay to dine with us, I hope?” Melbourne asked graciously.

“Dine?” Emma Portman asked sharply. “Is that all we will be doing, William?”

“Why, no, now that you mention it, Emma. I hope that you will be witnesses to a wedding.”

Victoria found herself whisked away by Lady Portman, to her dressing room where her dresser had superintended a troop of housemaids in filling a tub with steaming scented water. Emma had already laid out a dark blue velvet gown, not quite black – for no bride should marry wearing widow’s weeds – and simple jewels.

“How do I look, Emma?” She asked after she was dressed. The gown bared her shoulders and Skerrett had piled her dark hair atop her head in loops of soft waves, so that Victoria thought her neck looked quite long and graceful. Modest diamonds lent a twinkling light reflected in her eyes.

“Quite well, ma’am. Unfortunately you won’t be so fortunate in your attendants. Neither Emily nor I could dress for an evening wedding, when paying an afternoon call.”

“You knew what he intended?”

Emma Portman nodded. “I did. It seemed quite pointless to play out Peel’s farce for an entire year, and so I told William.”

“Oh, thank you, Emma! How can I ever thank you?”

“Just care for him, ma’am. William deserves happiness more than any man I know.”

The ceremony was brief, conducted by an elderly vicar who despite his years read the service in a rich, mellifluous voice. His wife stood to one side of the long table set up as an altar, and Emily Palmerston and Emma Portman on the other. Victoria would always remember the rich golden light that reflected off every surface to cocoon them, the smell of beeswax and heady scent of masses of flowers brought up from the greenhouse to fill bowls on every surface. A handful of servants stood in a circle, watching Viscount Melbourne exchange vows with their queen. Whether the septuagenarian vicar and his wife knew who she was, Victoria was never certain; their deference may have readily been been shown to any bride chosen by their benefactor. She only knew they smiled warmly at her during the ceremony and afterward each blessed her and wished her happiness. The reverend seemed to falter only when addressing the new bride, finally settling on ‘Lady Melbourne’ to her immense satisfaction.

Palmerston arrived to escort his wife home as they were opening the champagne and although he seemed momentarily nonplussed, he accepted a glass with good grace. “You understand I can’t ask what we are toasting and I'd prefer you not tell me because I do hope to re-enter government in the future. However….ma’am, may I kiss the bride?” Victoria smiled up at his handsome face and offered her cheek.

“Emma? You aren’t drinking?” Melbourne offered her a glass. “You are not pleased?” He frowned slightly. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

She sighed with a bleak expression. “I always hoped to be the one to make you happy someday, William. And if arranging this wedding is how I make you happy," She shrugged and showed him a wry, tight smile. "Then I will toast you and your bride.”

Melbourne studied her face, his expression both fond and understanding. “Thank you, dear friend. May I kiss the bride’s maid, Emma?” He leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek.


	7. Chapter 7

Victoria pushed herself up in bed and stretched lazily. _I would purr if I were a cat_ , she thought and giggled. Early morning sunlight cast a beam across the floor and she held her hand out to see its rays captured in the modest wedding band she wore. Even with eyes still half-closed in sleep she recognized her surroundings, not the light airy Queen’s chamber reserved for her at Brocket Hall, but the master’s bedchamber. _His_ most private space, filled with his presence even though she was alone. A cravat fallen unnoticed beside the bureau, a velvet coat laid across the back of a chair papers and books stacked on every surface; a glass still bearing the scrim of whatever dark beverage it had held beside his chair – for although his household staff was attentive, a valet most in tune with his master’s particular preferences rarely allowed housemaids to enter unsupervised. Framed gilded portraits of his mother, his son and one, tucked almost out of sight behind a wooden jewel box, that she assumed was a miniature of his late wife holding their son. It gave her a pang, but the large Lawrence study of the former mistress of Brocket Hall had been noticeably absent from pride of place in the entrance hall when Victoria had arrived – the first place her gaze went – and in its place the Winterhalter portrait of herself holding Prince William.

 _We’re married!_ She very much liked how that sounded as she repeated it, her first conscious thought on waking for each morning since their candelight ceremony. It felt different, she mused; she _felt_ married, felt more secure, felt like… _Mrs. Melbourne_ and the thought thrilled her. _Finally! After so long thinking he would never want a stupid girl like me, not as he wanted the elegant, accomplished women of his acquaintance, then thinking he could only love his dead wife. Longing, pining, aching for the most charming, handsome man in the world._

Queen Victoria, By the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith and a host of secondary titles, yet this one was the one which made her thrill with pride and achievement. Viscountess Melbourne, Lady Melbourne. _Mrs. Melbourne._ Mrs. William Lamb. Victoria giggled, sitting cross-legged in bed and suddenly feeling as giddy as the schoolgirl she’d never been. She reached out and stroked the pillow beside her, where his head had been, then lifted it in her arms and pressed her face into it, inhaling deeply the scent of his hair.

Before she could ring, through that uncanny, all-knowing way good servants had, Miss Skerrett tapped at the door, aware her mistress had risen. “Ma’am?”

“Come in, Miss Skerrett,” Victoria put down the pillow she was still embracing like a lover. Skerrett was her senior dresser – if “senior” could be applied to any young woman still in her twenties – and Victoria trusted her entirely, as she must the person with intimate knowledge of her very person. Neatly attired in a well-fitting dark blue dress with immaculate lace collar, Miss Skerrett had the robust appearance of a country girl, rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and neatly coiled blonde braids. If Victoria had thought about it at all, she would have assumed the girl had in fact come up from the country, a respectable young woman. Miss Skerrett, of course, had come to the Queen’s service from quite another direction, and for keeping that secret alone, she would be eternally grateful to her mistress’s new husband.

“Did you wish to take coffee in here, ma’am?” Bringing the Queen her morning refreshment was one of the many tasks not strictly within the scope of a dresser, and if Miss Skerrett had been jealous of her prerogatives she might have insisted such service was the duty of a lesser servant. Dressers and valets occupied lofty positions in the household hierarchy. She had taken it upon herself long ago to ensure that few entered the Queen’s chambers, and none at a time when they might stumble on Lord M in attendance.

“Thank you, Miss Skerrett. I had better dress and join our guests. Has Lord M already gone downstairs?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everyone is at breakfast. The Duchess of Kent told them not to wait for you to appear.” Victoria chuckled. Her mother as always usurped, but in this case she was quite grateful, not wanting to enter an assembly where everyone was waiting for her and wondering at her tardy arrival.

“It snowed last night,” Skerrett said, as she drew open the draperies. Bright sunlight amplified by a blanket of white flooded the room. Victoria laughed and shaded her eyes.

“What do you wish to wear today, ma’am? Can’t go about in my old dresses anymore, now that their Highnesses have arrived. The Duchess, your lady mother, would be quick to blame me.” Victoria laughed at her words. She disliked a servile demeanor in those around her and was well satisfied that Miss Skerrett was comfortable enough to employ humor. Victoria stepped into her slippers and, as the maid averted her eyes, slipped her arms into the dressing gown held out for her. Together they used the connecting door to pass through William’s dressing room and hers, into her apartment.

“I suppose I must choose between black, black and black,” Victoria responded. Her maid took a gown from the wardrobe and held it up for inspection.

“How about black, ma’am?” She asked brightly, ducking her head to conceal a grin. “I’ve added lace to this one, and some bright buttons to liven it up a bit.”

**

Only the ladies remained in the morning breakfast room, and they all rose in unison, sweeping curtsies when the Queen entered. All except for Victoire, Duchess of Kent, who went forward to embrace her daughter, in a gesture Victoria knew was intended  to demonstrate her rank rather than affection. “Good morning, mama,” she said brightly, kissing her mother’s powdered cheek. The Duchess smiled knowingly, almost a smirk. “You sleep late, Drina. I think country air must tire you.” Sotto voce, she leaned so her mouth was close to Victoria’s ear. “I went to find you but you were not in your bedchamber.”

“I find the air at Brocket Hall quite relaxing, indeed,” Victoria responded smoothly. She accepted coffee and took a piece of toast to nibble.

_**_

Melbourne ordered coffee be served in the library before he finished shaving. Never an early riser, it was even more difficult to leave a bed occupied by one’s delectable young wife. _Wife_ , he mused. _Never did I think to use that term again. And yet, here I am_ , husband once more, and to a very young bride. _But oh, what a girl!_ He felt himself stir as he always did, contemplating the sweet young face turned up for his kiss, warm smooth limbs and soft skin, pert breasts she pressed against him avid for his touch.

Melbourne arranged his cravat quickly and slid his arms into the coat his valet held out. “Are our guests all downstairs?”

“Yes, sir, I believe so. The gentlemen are in the library, looking over the newspapers and I believe the ladies are in the morning room at breakfast.”

“Well, then, I suppose I’d better make haste.” His valet had been with him for years and concurred with his old rivals at Brocket Hall, that His Lordship had never looked so well. These senior servants knew where to give credit for their master’s bright eyes and cheerful demeanor, and being privileged to witness the nuptials of His Lordship and Her Majesty put a period to the unhappy past the Hall had known. Their late mistress was as different a creature from this one as two females could be, the housekeeper had chimed in, and not because one was a queen, but because Lady Caroline had never looked at her husband the way this girl did, as though he was her whole dependence and delight. Some had had their opinions of the late Lady Melbourne and never rose above their place to share them, so the housekeeper added, but she wasn’t afraid to admit that _this time_ His Lordship seemed well and truly content in his matrimonial state, for all he’d married in secret.

The three of them, Baines, Hodges and Mrs. Hodges, toasted their Lordship and his Lady Queen with some of the best brandy in the house, fitting for such an occasion.

Their guests had arrived the evening before from London, and  while Melbourne regretted the end of their solitude, he realized that all things were best appreciated in moderation. _There will be more time for just the two of us,_ he’d reassured her. _Brocket Hall is our sanctuary and will always be here waiting for us_. What he hadn’t told her, because there was no need and talk of such things disturbed her, was the discussion he’d had with Fred and Emily. Brocket Hall was the Lamb family country home, but it was not entailed as Melbourne Hall was, and did not pass with the title. He intended to leave it to Victoria in his will, in trust for Liam, and compensate his brother and sister accordingly. There was little enough he could leave a son who would be King, but all the great Crown properties belonged to the country while Brocket Hall could be privately held by his descendants. Unlike his very young bride, Melbourne had lived long enough to hold a sanguine view of posterity, and to him it was reassuring rather than grim to imagine his royal great-great-grandchildren still having a private sanctuary at Brocket Hall.

Melbourne stepped into the morning room and greeted the Duchess of Kent first, bowing over her hand formally, with the careful deference he customarily reserved for the Queen’s mother. Parent of two grown children older than the Queen, Victoire had been a famous beauty in her youth and was still a handsome woman. Ironic that the mother was nearly a decade his junior. She had the arch manner of an accredited beauty and confirmed flirt with all gentlemen and Melbourne was no exception, despite her long-standing dislike. Her early air of disdain had been replaced by an almost _knowing_ look, once she understood the true nature of his relationship with Victoria, and Melbourne thought he would prefer the former to the latter. Still, he didn’t doubt she harbored some fondness for her daughter and she was undeniably affectionate with her grandchildren so he did his best to strike a balance between distance and the respect due Victoria’s mother.

He bowed to the young Duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha next, Ernest’s young princess bride and greeted his brother’s wife with a familial kiss on her cheek. All three were of an age, Victoria and the other two Alexandrinas, and it amused Melbourne that both he and his brother had wed girls decades younger than themselves, each of them a true love match.

Breakfast had been laid out on the sideboards and as soon as he saw to his guests’ comfort Melbourne retreated to his library, joining the gentlemen assembled there. The London papers had been brought by the same courier who brought Victoria’s dispatches. Melbourne glanced at the boxes and saw an envelope with Peel’s familiar handwriting, tucked into the strap.

“For you, William,” Palmerston said, handing it over. “I sent the courier to the kitchens for refreshment before he journeys back, thinking you might wish to send a response.”

“Peel? I thought everyone was off for their holidays. Is he working over Christmas? Or has there been some crisis Her Majesty needs to know about?”

“Have your coffee, William. And read the Times.”

Peel’s angular cursive hand read simply “This was not the doing of our party. I think we all know where to lay blame.”

Melbourne raised an eyebrow and glanced at his brother-in-law, passing over the Prime Minister’s note. Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston, handed him a section of the London Times, folded back to a two-column letter on the second page. As Melbourne perused it, he felt his anger surge.

The ambassador of Saxony, no disinterested observer, had written a letter to the Times extoling the late Prince Consort in gloriously exaggerated terms. Buried in its midst, however, was the quote of an English Member of Parliament, Benjamin Disraeli. Palmerston snatched the paper back and read the passage out loud.

“ ** _We have buried our Sovereign. This German Prince has governed England for three years with a wisdom and energy such as none of our Kings has ever shown. He was the permanent private secretary, the permanent Prime Minister_** …”

“May I, sir?” Prince Ernest, usually the most genial of men, snatched the paper away and continued reading in an incredulous tone. When he was done he slapped the paper down on the desk. “Do they mock my brother? What is this foolishness?”

“No, Your Highness, I fear…Disraeli is playing a far deeper game,” Fred Lamb said gravely. Palmerston nodded in agreement.

“This is treason!” Palmerston snapped. “Her Majesty governs this country. The Prince was neither Private Secretary nor _Permanent Prime Minister_ and Disraeli well knows it. He’s twigging you, clearly, William and I suspect he’s got wind of the marriage – your plans to marry, that is – and sees an opportunity to tear down both parties at once, he and his Young Englanders. “’ ** _If he had outlived some of the ‘old stagers’…of us younger men who are qualified to enter the Cabinet_** …’ I think his intent is plain. He intends to get rid of everyone who stands in his way, you, Peel, Wellington, Russell, myself and position himself as the only rightful successor to this young _paragon_ he describes as the hope of the future. If you’re not fit to serve in Government – if none of us are – and if he makes them see the future, as long as it’s in the hands of the old guard, as full of doom and gloom, then he’ll step in as the savior, picking up the mantle of our late Prince.”

“I think we’re still a constitutional monarchy,” Fred offered, attempting to be the voice of reason. “Her Majesty is still the anointed Queen.”

“This is preposterous! And he uses a _German_ ambassador to play his stooge? I’ll see that fool recalled. Saxony is landlocked; they need my goodwill.” Ernest was visibly angry, tossing his hair back and wringing his hands.

“I am grateful to hear that I am still the Queen. Was the matter in doubt?” They all looked up at Victoria’s entrance. She searched each of their faces questioningly. “Am I interrupting you? Shall I leave?”

“Your Majesty,” Prince Ernest was the first to collect himself and bow over her hand. “Cousin! I do apologize if I gave that impression. You are not interrupting me. A pretty face can never be an interruption.” Victoria permitted her brother-in-law to kiss her hand, then extended it to her the gentlemen who were, she realized, her _new_ brothers-in-law. A family group, certainly, if as always seemed to be the case with her, an atypical family. She was glad Ernest seemed so comfortable with the other three.

“What are you discussing? May I see?” Victoria reached out her hand and for one long moment she thought Ernest was going to withhold the newspaper he had rolled into a cudgel. He looked to the others, then reluctantly gave her the paper, folded to the inflammatory letter. As Victoria read, she was aware of the three men watching her closely, aware of Melbourne’s presence as he moved to stand very close behind her.

“I see,” she said finally. “Yes, indeed, it is indeed good to receive reassurance I am still the Queen. And that Robert Peel is still the Prime Minister, contrary to this ridiculous eulogy. So, gentlemen, I assume you’ve been discussing this. How do you advise I respond? Lord Melbourne?” As always, Victoria looked to Melbourne first.

“Ma’am, I’d advise you do nothing, certainly not until you and Peel return from holiday and can consult on this. It’s along the lines of what he was proposing to rewrite the script of your husband’s passing, but goes much farther than he ever imagined. And yet I’m not at all sure – I don’t think any of us are? – that there’s anything the Crown can do directly, to address what is supposedly a private letter published by the recipient, not the author, of that letter. Disraeli will say he never intended that for public consumption and it was merely an expression of his own sentiments. Vitzthum will say he didn’t write it and those are not his thoughts, he merely posted it for public consumption. And there we are.” Victoria pursed her lips, annoyed but quiet as she mulled his advice.

“Lord Palmerston, do you have anything to add to that?”

“No, ma’am. I think if you met with the heads of both parties when you return and express some concern with the _inaccuracies_ as well as the fact that this _sedition_ was posted to a foreign agent, Wellington might exert himself yet to reign in those young Radicals in the party.” Victoria nodded.

“Ernest?”

“I intend to write to Frederick Augustus and protest strongly in this most inexcusable attempt to use my brother’s name to interfere in the affairs of a foreign government, the kingdom my _nephew_ will inherit.  I would recommend you ask Sir Robert Peel to likewise write to Minister von Lindenau demanding he recall his ambassador.” Victoria listened to her Coburg cousin, nodding thoughtfully. She turned to Frederick Lamb, formerly her ambassador to Vienna and the man she knew least well of the three.

“And what do you think Mr. Disraeli hopes to gain with this nonsense? Surely he isn’t still pursuing his intention of becoming Prime Minister? Without experience or the support of the crown or his own party? I find him most importune.”

“Baron Beauvale, what is your opinion? Why would this German diplomat think it _wise_ or _politic_ to so publicly intervene in our affairs and slander the Crown?” If he was surprised to be addressed directly, Frederick hid it well.

“Your Majesty, I am only barely acquainted with Vitzthum but I cannot believe he thought it either wise or politic, or within his portfolio, for that matter. His job isn’t to further Coburg interests –“ He nodded to Ernest. “-but Saxony’s so it doesn’t seem likely his own government was behind this. I’d look for another motive. Either he’s completely gullible, or he was manipulated. Perhaps…by the same hand that manipulated Mr. Disraeli into betraying himself so rashly.” Melbourne looked at his brother shrewdly.

“In short, there is no reason – other than to cause trouble and embarrass us – why anyone would gain anything by publishing this preposterous rubbish?” Victoria’s voice was smooth despite her sharp words.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. At any rate, my suggestion would be, as William says, to do nothing, because there’s nothing you _can_ do.” Victoria nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you all. Lord Melbourne, I will go through my dispatches later. I think there’s nothing urgent requiring my attention. If you will all excuse me…”

As the Queen swept out of the room all three men watched her leave, spellbound. Palmerston spoke first. “Melbourne, I congratulate you. You have made us a Queen. She is a force to be reckoned with. I think with her at our head, we can build ourselves an empire such as the world as never seen. In fact, at the risk of sounding like our fool, Mr. Disraeli….I believe I want to be her Prime Minister. You’ve had your go at it. It’ll be my turn next.”

Melbourne raised a brow and looked at his brother-in-law. “The Whigs are out of office. You’ll have to wait.”

“Nevertheless…” Viscount Palmerston smiled wolfishly. “What? I admire her decisiveness, her formidable air of command…same quality our great generals have, only in a much prettier package. And if I find myself just a little bit in love with her, why, it will only fuel my devotion to her service.” Melbourne blinked sleepily and his lips tightened in just the hint of a smile, or grimace.

Melbourne looked at his brother, who stood by impassively. He shook his head softly. “Not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, William, but she _is_ the Queen. No doubt about that. God’s anointed sovereign, and no one can take that from her. Nor will she let you forget it.”

Despite himself, Melbourne knew some of his smugness must show, the proprietary air ill suited to a consort to the Queen. Better here with these trusted friends, family members, than anywhere else, he thought. But she was his, the most powerful woman in the world but also the most alluring – connoisseurs such as his old friend the Duke of Holland and here, ‘Cupid’ Palmerston declared themselves infatuated with her – and when he thought of how thoroughly she was his, how he had been the one to awaken her to the pleasures of love, to free her from all inhibitions and watch her blossom into the passionate creature she was, just for him, he felt himself stirred to arousal despite his surroundings. Never, never would he tire of her and he hoped fervently she would never tire of him.

The assembly gathered to celebrate Prince William’s birthday and Melbourne divided his attention between his young son – the boy greeted the other children, his cousins, with sweet diffidence – and his Queen. Victoria was all graciousness, a charming guest in his home while Emily from long habit acted as hostess, and Melbourne was amused to see how his bride quite unconsciously showed Frederick some of the same winsomeness usually reserved for him. As much as she always had, Victoria’s eyes still sought out his own periodically, her touchstone in any setting, and he was happy to have it so. Prince Liam leaned against his father’s knee and Melbourne stroked the boy’s silky curls, so like his own, reassuring him until he ventured out at the behest of a girl cousin, Emily’s granddaughter, and joined the laughing troop running gaily from room to room under the supervision of harried nurses.

**

Victoria sat up in bed in her own rooms, tired but restless, wishing they were still alone at Brocket Hall so she could go in search of Melbourne in her night gown and bare feet. He would be in his library, she knew, enjoying a brandy before bed, and if not for the presence of his brother – Prince Ernest having left his wife behind to go for another late ride in search of dalliance – she would find him and curl herself into his lap, the way she had during their first days at the Hall.

Her little dog put his paws up hesitantly on the edge of the bed and she lifted him up so he could snuggle against her. She knew she had to think more about the matter of _that_ letter to the newspaper, absurdly, infuriatingly usurping her own status in favor of spurious allusion to Albert as monarch, private secretary and _Prime Minister_ all rolled into one. More, it was the emphasis on _old_ – the old guard, the old ministers – versus _young_ , young Albert, young _Disraeli_ , and Young England, that roused all her protective ire. She was, after all, the ordained Queen, the Lord’s anointed, and unless he felt certain that the country would accept abolition of the monarchy itself, it was not her throne under attack. It was, of course, obviously, Lord M. He didn’t have to be mentioned by name for that to be obvious to her and, she suspected, to William himself. That awful obnoxious _pushy_ man had caused dissension once before, quite deliberately, when she was still young and impressionable enough for it to have borne fruit. Then, it had been _that woman_ he conspired with. Was _she_ behind this too? Even Lord M’s brother, the diplomat, had agreed there was no clear strategy behind the planting of that eulogy or whatever it was supposed to be…other than to get her attention and perhaps egg on some sort of response, and to perhaps fire the first shot in a battle to discredit ( _prevent?_ Victoria wondered) her marriage. And really, now that she had her heirs, two healthy and presumably legitimate children, who remained with any vested interest in seeing her _not_ marry the man who loved her? _That woman_ , of course.

He came to her after she’d fallen into a restless reluctant sleep. They would not waste these precious nights, even with her mother and the others at Brocket Hall. The Hall was laid out so that the family and guest wings were separated by the central block of the manor house, and with far fewer servants, there was no one not entirely trusted to note the sleeping arrangements. Curling up against his warmth, feeling his arm encircle her shoulders, Victoria fell into sleep once more, content.

After some nights of wonderful leisurely lovemaking Victoria regretfully announced that she’d reached the time in her monthly cycle when she would be most likely to conceive – whether or not she still could the doctors had said was doubtful but not certain – and then, some nights she merely slept curled against his side, feeling his arm around her, lulled to sleep with his fingers gently toying with her hair in that blissfully relaxing way she loved. Other nights they explored each other languidly, Victoria learning all the ways of pleasing this man, intuiting what action elicited which reaction. She especially took to the act he called fellatio, a French practice supposedly, and it seemed at once the most natural and the most erotic of acts. She was shocked not by the act but by his admission that it was not something generally performed outside bordellos. “Well, then,” she’d teased with that mix of sensuality and _ingenue_ he found so irresistible. “if ever I am deposed, I know where I can go, because I quite enjoy it. And _he_ is ever so  appreciative.” She’d held his erection, tickling the sensitive underside with the tip of her tongue as he looked on in wonder, until sensation overwhelmed him completely and he could think of nothing at all.

Laden carriages left Brocket on Boxing Day morning. The sun was shining and the air was clear and cold, with a scrim of frost still covering the landscape.

Melbourne stood with Victoria, seeing off their guests as Lord and Lady of the manor, until it was time for the Queen to enter her own carriage. Only Emma would ride with her, she’d decreed, citing the need to look over much correspondence prior to her arrival back at Buckingham House. In point of fact, she wanted the time to regroup. He handed Emma into the carriage first, squeezing her hand affectionately and receiving a conspiratorial smile in return. Victoria turned her face up and Melbourne glanced about only briefly before kissing her plump poised lips. She swayed against him, already missing his warmth and nearness. "Ma'am, I will call on you in the morning. Emma, if you are to be in residence, I will see you later." Victoria's eyes flashed from one to the other. Lady Portman nodded reassuringly. "It will be as you wish, ma'am."

Melbourne thought he’d had most of his objectives met, inviting the disparate group to his country home. Victoria, certainly, had been primary, but he’d also hoped to bring his fractious brother and brother-in-law together. They were professional colleagues and had certainly worked well together on the Oriental Crisis but personally were barely civil. For Emily’s sake, of course, but also for his own and Victoria’s good, he wanted his family together, a united front against the inevitable storm front brewing over his marriage. He didn’t consider himself a particularly melancholy man – he avoided much introspection, and was happier than he’d ever been – but accepted that he would long predecease her, and he wanted Victoria to have the genuine affection of his family, his children their loyalty and the warmth of a large extended family. She had never had the experience of a warm family bound by ties of love and shared experience. Political allies and Crown loyalists were not the same as a family. Her own was occupied jockeying for position and putting its members on every throne in Europe; it was only a matter of time before Leopold and the King of Hanover looked to Liam and Elizabeth as pawns in their game of thrones. Their legitimacy could never be questioned or his own paternity established, which gave the Coburg dynasty a right to press Albert’s claim no matter the truth they all acknowledged privately. _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

Melbourne knew himself well enough to know his aversion to conflict and confrontation was his greatest weakness, and genius for finding common ground and winning allies his greatest political strength. Double-edged sword, he must be especially alert in the months to come, that he not avoid those battles worth fighting in a futile attempt to pacify adversaries who could not be trusted. Better an open enemy than a friend who seeks to destroy everything you care about, Melbourne thought, determined to address the issue most troublesome to him and Victoria: Caroline Norton’s persistent effort to bring him back and use her prolific, even gifted pen and political prowess to do so.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Disraeli really did write the most ludicrously over the top ode to the late Albert ever seen, in a letter to the ambassador from Saxony, with obvious intent of having it make his way back to the public eye and of course the Queen. Part of his ongoing aim of bringing himself to her attention and becoming her Prime Minister. Truth is stranger than fiction.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Her paradise was peopled by two persons, and surely that was enough.” – Lytton Strachey, Victoria_

 

“Sir Robert is heavily involved in his banking reform bill. He hasn’t been as interested in speculating about my private life, which I feel is a sign interest in general has died down. The commission investigating the assassination attempt last summer has concluded that we might never know who all the conspirators were, or that we can ever successfully lay blame for firing them up where it belongs.

I had a visit from George Von Wettin that you might find interesting. He’s still heavily involved in overseeing the House of Lords reconstruction design, but of late he’s been hearing much talk of interest in…”

At this the Queen made a little moue, turning up her nose quite adorably, Melbourne thought. “on sewage and sanitation. A Mr. Southwood Smith firmly believes in the correlation of filth and moral turpitude in our slums. Mr. Van Wettin has suggested that if a Commission were established to examine the entirety of the issue of slum clearance and alleviation of poverty and disease in London, it might actually do some good while redirecting the energies of the moralists and religious reformers away from harassment of those whose only crime is…an alternative set of personal choices.”

She paused. “I confess it’s not the most elegant of topics, and he acknowledged as much, but he came to me because he feels most strongly that environmental improvements to the worst parts of the city would be a means to honor Albert’s memory by focusing attention on the things he was most sincerely passionate about, and not this ridiculous _cult_ attempting to paint him as a self-righteous prig.”

Under Emma Portman’s watchful gaze, Melbourne studied Victoria’s countenance with loving attention while Victoria examined his beloved face in return. They were seated a respectable distance apart in the Queen’s drawing room, surrounded by her Ladies-in-Waiting, the Duchess of Kent and several young maids of honor. Yet, Lady Portman observed, they may as well lay naked in bed, spent from an afternoon of lovemaking – or, more accurately, about to embark on the same. No matter how proper the Queen’s posture in repose, despite William’s carefully respectful carriage, no one could escape feeling the powerful magnetic pull between Queen Victoria and her Lord M. We might as well give them a few minutes' privacy, Emma decided, for all the good it did to assemble a roomful of chaperones who could do no more than squirm uncomfortably and find points of interest to turn their gaze anywhere but on these two. Never had the Palace bric-à-brac been scrutinized so carefully by so many.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Portman stood so abruptly she quite startled the Dowager Duchess, who dropped her tatting.

“There is the Diplomatic Reception to plan, although how we’re supposed to do that while everything is draped in crepe I’m not sure. May I enlist the assistance of your ladies in the Throne Room so we can begin gathering suggestions?” Victoria nodded assent with a look of appreciation. “Your Highness, we quite depend on your eye for color and detail. Will you advise us?”

Lady Portman held her features expressionless when the Duchess of Kent slanted her eyes toward her daughter and then quite clearly rolled them up in an unmistakable grimace. "Very well. Lead the way. Drina, I am sure you can dispense with our presence as long as you have your Lord M to bear you company.

When they were finally alone, Victoria giggled, flushed, her eyes bright with exhilaration. “Finally! Quite ridiculous that I am to endure a room full of chaperones, as though guarding a treasure which has long since been plundered. Speaking of plundering…”

Victoria saw in Lord M’s gentle, quite beautiful eyes a look mild amusement but also, she thought, of approbation, even pride. His long elegant fingers toyed with the ribbons on her gown, curling, braiding them, seemingly absorbed in the task. “What are you thinking, Lord M?”

“I’m thinking that you have a remarkable grasp of a great many things, even…sewage. And that you are becoming quite decisive on a great many things as well. Will this project entail a ceremonial opening of a cistern perhaps?”

“You tease me, Lord M. I haven’t spoken to you properly in days. I know I run on but I so miss having you at hand to talk things over with. What will you say, what will you think, what would you advise in such-and-such an instance…and how you will find some way to make me laugh, no matter the topic.”

“I firmly believe that there is something to laugh at in everything. I hope I’ve taught you that much. Men are never so foolish as when motivated by some lofty ideal. You are quite splendid when you’re at your most imperious and determined, you know. Greater men than I have remarked it. But none who love you as well, I think. Come, my darling girl. Continue telling me about the business of Queening. I am now far from the halls of power and am only told what they wish me to hear for some purpose.” Victoria twined her arms about his waist, rubbing her forehead against the soft velvet of his coat, and turned her face up.

“Oh how I’ve missed you! And how I’ve needed you here. It is quite unfair that they seek to deprive me of the best of men at my side.”

“Not deprive, only delay. We have made that much progress. Ah but you don’t need me, you see. You manage quite well without me.” Victoria basked in the warmth of his expression.

“I will never not need you, Lord M. And it’s all I can do to get through each day I don’t have you with me. I can manage being Queen perhaps, but I can’t manage _being_ without you.” She sighed as his arms enveloped her, and laid her cheek against his chest. “It’s quite maddening.” She huffed and leaned her head back to look up at him.

“So…I asked you your thoughts. Do we need yet another royal commission? One to examine hygiene practices in the slum district?”

“Rather, improve infrastructure, I would think. It seems you’ve laid out pretty well the advantages. I don’t see many disadvantages, other than the obvious. Any attempt at all to interfere with ‘the poor’ generally results in a bigger mess than one started out with.”

“Still…I think I will approve of such a commission. Some of the things he told me – some of the things Peel’s police commissioners have described in that regard – are quite horrifying and we must act if we can. And if it diverts attention from those who seek to lay the blame for all ills on _moral turpitude_ that will be all to the good. We do not need more moralist reformers in our midst.

“And what about Peel’s banking reforms? Can you explain them to me? He has tried but I confess my mind easier wraps itself around sewage than commerce.”

“I can. I reserve my opinion on whether or not I think it’s a good thing. I can tell you, many in his own party consider him a Whig in Tory clothing. Peel’s measure seeks to limit the power of issuing bank notes – currency – to the Central Bank of England. Currently any commercial bank can issue it’s own bank notes and some say unregulated issuance of new bank notes is a major cause of the inflation of prices. For instance…” Melbourne led her to a sofa and sat beside her. Victoria listened, rapt, as he enlivened his speech with examples she could easily relate to, until the matter was quite clear in her mind. All the while he talked, she traced patterns on his leg with her fingertips, her light touch playful yet intent, until she saw she was achieving quite satisfactory results.

“And is this a good thing in your view? Lord M, you _know_ I make up my own mind in the end. I only want to have the benefit of your opinion to inform my own.” Her eyes were quite serious but her lips twitching with the need to subdue a smile. Melbourne idly debated with himself, whether this girl was more delightfully seductive when she intended it so, or when she was caught up in the business of governing and only he knew what lay beneath that imperial manner. The tip of her little pink tongue emerged, wetting her top lip, and he shifted slightly, adjusting his position and giving in to the rush of heat flooding his groin.

“I think Peel’s onto something. Whether it’s worth the opposition he’ll face and the turmoil it will cause I’ll leave to him. Others think it will erode individual liberty, further centralize power and strengthen government and that will threaten the individualists who cry for liberty. My advice, were you to ask it? Say nothing. Follow Peel’s progress on the issue and attempt to be on the winning side of this debate. I think he’ll win, but he’s losing support in the process and that will mean the Whigs are back in power sooner rather than later.” He pushed himself against her hand, seeking more than the butterfly touch she employed, as both continued the game of pretending nothing was happening beyond serious political discussion.

“And what news do you bring me from town? Was that dreadful ridiculous Disraeli letter discussed? What do they say?”

“I dined at Holland House last evening. A small soirée, no more. Yes,” he sighed. “It was discussed. Of course, amongst my friends, no one is going to give credence to such patent nonsense. Mr. Disraeli is quite the laughingstock, but then no more so than he was before. I’m afraid people have a fairly accurate impression of the poor Prince – he hardly concealed his tendencies, and at least amongst the Whigs, the role I play in Palace life is fairly well known. It is, unfortunately, talked about, however, with speculation – much as we ourselves engaged in – as to the motive behind it. Or rather, the lack of comprehensible motive, except to bring himself to your attention.

“The position Disraeli put us in – put you in, Your Majesty, and those who support you – is that any attempt to dispute the….assertions…the hyperbole…” Melbourne groaned and abandoned his attempt to ignore what was happening below his waist. He her hand in place against him, applying pressure that maddened him to the point of wanting to push her back on the narrow sofa and take her right there. Victoria lowered her eyes and shifted in place, turning to face him. He intuited her intent and very slightly shook his head _no_ while he still had an iota of self-control. They were so attuned to each other that they communicated quite well without words, Victoria wanting to take him in her mouth, right there in the sunny late-afternoon drawing room, heedless of the risk of discovery, and he having to be the voice of reason. He lifted her chin and raised her face, kissing her gently on the lips.

“I think perhaps if you’re not planning to entertain your dinner guests _very_ late this evening perhaps we can continue this – _discussion_ – later.” She pouted as he firmly gripped her wrist, preventing her from touching him.

“Have you missed it?” She asked in a low, sultry tone. _How readily she perfected the art of seduction_ , he observed. “Have you missed…? Or have you found satisfaction elsewhere?” Melbourne noted her tone sharpening slightly. “With one of the duchesses at your _soirées_ perhaps?”

“Yes, yes, no and no. You must not have those thoughts, no matter how much they flatter me. If I had it would mean nothing, but I have not.” Melbourne watched closely the subtle changes in her expression, knowing how fiercely her jealousy burned. On one level it was as absurd as it was complimentary – that this beautiful, so very _young_ woman adored him desperately enough to be tormented by jealousy – but on another, her possessiveness was potentially troublesome enough he knew he must tread carefully. Sexual fidelity was not something highly valued in his circle, in his life or experience – devotion of the heart was another matter entirely – but Melbourne appreciated that Victoria had grown up in isolation from society, her thoughts and feelings shaped only by the most idealistic sensibilities and the prudish morality of her puritanical Protestant governess. While Melbourne didn’t share her prejudices, he respected them and adored her as completely, and with far deeper, more nuanced emotion, as she did him. Melbourne knew he himself would no longer be able to tolerate anything like Caroline’s early, less public infidelities with the same degree of equanimity. Victoria was ineffably precious to him in a way Caro had not been, even at their most passionate; she was the last love of his life. Not that Victoria ever had, or probably ever would, entertain those impulses, but he was honest enough to know that it would shatter him this time, where previously it had been only the public nature of Caro’s late obsession which had burned.

Melbourne shook himself out of reverie and attended to Victoria’s words.

“I’ve been thinking about it – this whole situation – and if things are going to be the result of _uncertainty_ then that is another reason why we need to announce our marriage and be done with it. The longer this drags on – my mourning period, speculation and jockeying for position – the more of this will surface. Once it’s known we’re married, there is nothing else they can do.”

“Alas, my dear, there is plenty any number of busybodies can do. Which brings me a piece of advice my dear friend Lady Holland gave me – gave us, actually, for the Duchess is quite a loyalist since you so publicly received her.”

“You spoke to her about…?”

“Not in so many words, but she is a savvy woman and a dear friend. She grasps our situation tolerably well. Her suggestion is to give Disraeli what he thinks he wants, which is your attention. Summon him to the Palace and meet with him privately. Point out to him that the only attention he can expect to receive from the Crown will be entirely negative and counter to his interests. And perhaps...dangle the prospect of royal favor before him as well. The carrot and the stick, so to speak.”

Victoria mulled over his words. “I have been thinking the same thing myself. Do you agree with your friend on this?”

“I do. You, my girl, are developing quite a keen political instinct yourself.” He debated whether to tell her the concomitant warning he had received at the Hollands’ home. _Later_ , he thought. _No need to roil things now._

“And if it turns out that Mr. Disraeli is prompted in his actions by an accomplice – does she advise I likewise meet with that person?” Victoria looked at him from under lowered lids, watchful.

“That would not be advisable,” Melbourne murmured. “Some battles, you must trust others to wage for you.”

***

“You have been missed,” Emma Portman crooned to Melbourne, her tone arch, her smile pointed.

“Ah, yes, Emma, I’ve missed you too,” Melbourne said lightly, teasing her.

“And will you stay the night with us?”

“Emma! That is rather bold, even from you.” His lips twitched with amusement; hers tightened in annoyance.

“Very funny, William.”

They stood against the wall, watching the Queen’s progress, attended by two equerries and several attendants, as she greeted her guests and received their obeisance. Melbourne enjoyed these times when he could watch her from afar, as though at a performance. The Queen’s little figure, so slender and lithe, seemed larger than life under the glow of an invisible mantle. Her lovely shoulders were bared and a set of sapphires caught and reflected the light from the chandeliers; her dark hair was piled high on her head, around the matching coronet. She moved with grace and held herself with imperial dignity, but what always drew Melbourne’s interest was the manner in which she, his own darling girl, was transfigured into a sublime being. It was a mystery, something beyond ordinary understanding, and yet it affected everyone who came into the Presence, this awe-inspiring sense of a being greater than mere mortals. Melbourne felt it, saw it, saw its effect on others, and was never quite sure of its source, except that it emanated from her quite naturally, yet was supernatural in origin. The same girl who he would hold and make love to, spend his pent-up passion on and croon to sleep later that night, touched by the divine. His darling girl, now - however improbably - his _wife_ , at these times was no more his alone than were the sun, the moon or the stars. She belonged to the nation, the empire, to history itself. _Gloriana._

Despite her consummate professionalism and the poise with which she conducted herself, always she looked for him, discrete searching glances until she found him. Melbourne was older and wiser in the ways of concealment, but he knew that something inside himself was perpetually restless and yearning until he was again near her.

“Yes, Emma, I will. You will deflect any interference for us?”

“You know I will. There is a State occasion coming up that we have begun to plan for. The Diplomatic Reception. The Queen will want you there, of course, even though you no longer have a role to play. I think we need to get you a new title, William. It will make things easier on everyone if you have a rank that allows you some precedence. Think of the Lord Chamberlain. Think of me. A Dukedom, at the least. Once you’re married in full view of the country, Prince Consort but until then…yes, I think a Dukedom will work nicely.”

“I’ve refused before, Emma. I refused when King George offered. I certainly don’t want to appear as though I’m benefiting now.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, William! This is hardly an advantage. There are no hereditary titles to be had, and none in the Queen’s gift which come with property or an income so it’s just that, a _title_. You must get over this perverse need to avoid criticism and be liked by everyone. It didn’t work in politics and now that you look even higher, you will certainly not be immune. Just take the damned title so you can be _put_ somewhere.” To take some of the sting out of her sharp words, Emma touched his hand lightly and allowed him a rare glimpse of the fondness she bore him.

Melbourne was able to escort the Queen in to dinner, as there were no royals present and the Dukes of Wellington and Montrose did not exercise their prerogative. Melbourne sat on the Queen’s left in his accustomed place, the Duchess of Kent beside him and a peer he’d long known across from him. After dinner the gentlemen lingered but briefly before joining the ladies once more.

There was much talk of the soon-to-be-opened new Royal Exchange Building, which the Queen was to open, and of Peel’s policies, none of which the Duke approved. Melbourne was able, with his usual adroitness, to avoid expressing any firm opinion on political matters, finding the impartiality required of the Queen and now, by extension, of him, more akin to his true nature than taking a partisan stand on such controversial issues. It was interesting and, he hoped, enlightening to Victoria. She followed his lead, attending to him with great interest and interjecting apt comments. Those seated nearest her were able to fully appreciate the Queen’s warmth and vivacity, the natural sweet charm on full display when she was in her comfort zone, beside her Lord M.

From their various vantage points, other interested parties observed the Queen and her adviser, the former premier. No matter how full the room, how weighty or insubstantial the conversation, no matter whether entertaining visiting heads of state or a delegation of weavers, no one could mistake the connection between them, the constant brief glances, as though each needed that momentary reassurance, the palpable sense of _awareness_ , each of the other, Her Majesty and Lord Melbourne. The sprightly young woman and the handsome senior statesman more than old enough to be her father, and yet no onlooker could doubt the precise nature of their connection, or think it _paternal_.

Victoire, the dowager Duchess of Kent saw her daughter aglow in the presence of this man she loved – despite his absolute unsuitability – and found her habitual defensiveness overshadowed by sudden self-doubt. _Would she have so ruthlessly banished the man_ I loved _, if I had shown myself her willing ally early on? If I had resisted Leopold’s scheming and thrown my loyalty behind her and her Lord M, would she have allowed me to keep Sir John in at court in return? But would my love have been enough for_ him? _She knew the answer and was once more awash with self-pity._

Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, knew himself to be frankly envious. _A man nearly my age, with this enchanting young woman eating out of his hand – lucky dog!_ He’d always liked Melbourne, found him eminently reasonable and willing to compromise, and good enough _ton_ to be a prize sought by every hostess. _And Caro – dear Caro – what a pleasant diversion she had been back in the day, eagerly making her way through every aristocratic bed in England including my own. He was always quite reasonable about that too, never made a fuss. At our age_ – conveniently forgetting he had ten years on Melbourne – _why make him wait to claim his prize? Let them wed and be done with it._  

And Emma Portman, so long enmeshed in the love affair, felt an almost proprietary responsibility for those two. Her facilitation, her vicarious _participation_ , at least it made her relevant and kept her close to _him_ , this man she had loved for half a century. Pity that one felt insubstantial but that’s how it was. She hoped fervently that when this love was no longer forbidden, or at least by necessity secretive, it might lose just a bit of it’s hypnotic power over them. That would be refreshing, to say the least.

When Victoria slipped into his apartment he was waiting impatiently, all traces of his habitual nonchalance erased, ready, so ready for her and she scarcely waited for the heavy door to close behind them before throwing herself at him. For a few long minutes they kissed hungrily, frantically, and when Victoria turned her eyes up she saw his eyes were dark, their expression was serious, intent, almost grim in its concentration. Momentarily she felt a pang, missing the playfulness she was so accustomed to seeing there, and then understood, felt an answering spasm of desire make its way through her own body, so powerful she felt she would go mad with need. She rubbed against him, feeling how ready he was for her, rocked her hips back and forth, stimulating herself against the rock-hard length of his erection until he stilled her movements and led her to his bed.

When he held her afterward, Victoria’s limbs felt liquid, boneless, all sensation centered just _there_ , where she still felt a faint echoing thrum of pulse. She turned on her side, wrapping both of her legs around one of his, laying her arm across his waist. When she looked up at him, his eyes were closed and he had the most beautiful, unearthly smile on his face that she needed to tell him again. “You are my life, William. I love you, I adore you.”

He smiled drowsily, content and a bit melancholy. “You are _everything_ to me, Victoria. Everything. Never ever doubt that.” No need to tell her how acutely he feared the spotlight of attention which would soon by shown on them, by virtue of their marriage. Nevertheless, he would bear it, for her.

“Good. Then come home. Here, with me, with the children. There is nothing else they can dredge up, no more accusations to fling,  are there?” She continued without pausing, answering her own question. “The old scandals are so well known that they are of interest to no one. What harm can they do us?” Victoria propped herself on one elbow, now wide awake and energized once more. She tilted her head, watching him, trying to read his expression. He merely shrugged.

“What harm indeed, ma’am?” He responded lightly.

“Then it’s settled. I will meet with Mr. Disraeli and have it out with him, and then we must tell Sir Robert that a year is too long to wait for a marriage that comes at no cost to the country, has no dynastic or political implications, requires no new treaties.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm clouds are brewing and enemies circling. Caroline Norton, Baron Stockmar, perhaps others with a vendetta...the course of true love can't run smoothly.
> 
> Reminder: The role of Baron William Cameron is played by actor Ben Robson and his brother Daniel by Jake Weary, both currently starring in the US series "Animal Kingdom" on TNT. Google them if you need an image. Well, and because they're fun to look at:)

They’d resolved to tell Peel that they would void the agreement to wait a full year but as determined as Victoria was to have her way in this, she agreed that it was useless at best, counterproductive at worst, to approach the Prime Minister confrontationally. Victoria more grudgingly agreed that yet again Melbourne would make a show of limiting his visits to the Palace and returning to his South Street lodgings at night until the marriage was announced and publicly blessed.

It was ridiculous, she thought, that in a Palace with 900 rooms and innumerable uncharted corridors every housemaid and kitchen boy, dresser and cook, could find the means to enjoy one another; every Lord and Lady in the land _other_ than the Queen could conduct their discrete liaisons as they always had. Nonetheless, she kissed and embraced her William during their final stolen moments of privacy – guarded by Emma Portman waiting outside the door – and he went off into the night.

Victoria put her focus on the diplomatic reception and ball, delayed due to the Prince’s death. As heartily sick of the forced inactivity of official mourning as she was every other aspect, she called the Lord Chamberlain and Foreign Secretary to her office and told them to agree on a date. Once that was set, she gathered together all of who remained in the Prince’s household and her own , and tasked them with coordinating the ball and supper. After her succession Victoria quickly learned she much preferred poring over dispatches and meeting with her ministers – of course Lord M, but also the others, Tory and Whig alike – to managing the social aspects of Court life. She’d never entirely matured out of her sense that the aristocracy looked down at her, even sneered behind her back, and had an unfortunate tendency to compensate by displaying icy _hauteur_ which won her few friends among the nobility.

Lady Portman was tasked with keeping them on task and ensuring at least minimal cooperation. She was hardly the highest ranking but she’d served the longest and had the closest relationship to the Queen.

The first real discussion of everything which must be done to plan the most festive social occasion of the year for the _haut ton_ took place in the Queen’s drawing room.

“The Foreign Secretary will inform us of the diplomats in residence and those who wish to present their credentials, we will compile a list of those royals who are visiting us at the time or should otherwise be included, and I ask all of you to give names of others you wish to have considered. Emma, I would like you to take charge of things on our end.  I know I can depend on you to make sure things move along without excess discord.” Emma Portman took note of her Queen’s winsome, appealing expression and marveled how quickly she’d perfected the art of judicious flattery. Nonetheless, it worked; Emma found exercising authority on the Queen’s behalf quite satisfying.

“You will keep in mind,” Emma Portman added. “That all those you propose must be of suitable rank and reputation.”

Everyone began chattering at once and Victoria abandoned all effort to follow the voices determined to talk over each other in casting out the names of those each lady wished to sponsor. The social cachet of an invitation would be valuable capital to bargained with later, and nobody wished to forfeit the opportunity to incur the debt of an invitation.

“Emma,” Victoria murmured, stepping out of earshot of the others.. “Please ensure that anyone William wishes to include is not overlooked.” Lady Portman arched an eyebrow, rather surprised at her commission.

“I don’t want him to think I must approve his choices, Emma.” Lady Portman was grudgingly impressed by her mistress’s effort at sangfroid. The shadow side of the Queen’s attachment to her former Prime Minister was her insecurity and demand for his constant attention. “Nor that he omit any _old friends_ solely because he fears I might not understand that he maintains friendships with…previous connections. I am his wife now, and will receive anyone he presents to me.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Lady Portman nodded. “I think that will mean a great deal to him. Our William is a man who does not easily abandon his friends, although for you he would maintain distance to avoid causing scandal distress.” She hesitated over her words. “And Your Majesty knows he would never abuse your trust.”

 “Has William left for the City, ma’am?” Lady Portman asked softly enough to avoid being overheard.

“Yes,” Victoria sighed. “He’s returned to his lodgings for a night or two. For _appearance’s sake_.” Her tone summarized nicely her feelings on the subject.

“Patience, ma’am. This situation will resolve itself soon. Nothing stands in your way.”

Victoria otherwise struggled to fill the hours, making unannounced visits to the nursery, walking in the gardens several times a day when weather permitted, riding out with those gentlemen who had formerly attended Albert and switched their allegiance to her. Settlements had been offered to those who wished to return to their families, but not all were able – some had _paterfamilias who had outright disowned them – and for those Victoria was determined to settle on them sums sufficient for them to establish themselves in a career._ A few, however, through disinclination or loyalty, begged to be kept on and Victoria had ended up with a core group of ultra loyal adherents still in her service as equerries, secretaries and, in the case of Daniel Cameron, combined a practical apprenticeship with the Royal physician with formal clinical studies at Cambridge. His brother William, invested with an English title along with his Irish inheritance, had returned recently as well. As disinterested in position and protocol as always, he’d simply appeared, puttering around the stables, lounging in a drawing room with his long booted legs stretched out, nearly tripping the maids, startling the little prince’s attendants by swooping into the nursery and lifting the boy high onto his considerable shoulders.

Victoria had first noticed him after their return from Brocket Hall. He made no formal obeisance, in fact seemed as determined as any gentleman who stood well over six feet tall could be to go unnoticed. When their eyes met, she was aware of that momentary small connection, as though they knew each other far better than they did. She considered questioning someone about his presence in the Palace – it was, after all, a _palace_ and people should not be able to come and go at will – but allowed the matter to slide as of no real importance. He did make himself useful in small ways, and was certainly a source of amusement to her Ladies _and_ her small son, so Victoria dismissed it from her mind. He was just _there_ , in the background, a laughing, unassuming yet somehow reassuring _presence._

What consumed all of her attention most of the time was William’s absence, both corporeal and the manner in which he was expected to go unmentioned, unacknowledged, of no particular importance, with no influence. That was, she considered, absolutely infuriatingly incorrect – he was the most important person in _her_ life, had been the most significant person in her reign, and had governed the country for more than seven tumultuous years. How _dare_ they think to erase him, not only from her life, but the life of the nation? To attempt even to erase him from _history_ , this kindest, most learned and skillful of premiers?

Since Albert’s death Victoria was sensible of an intangible threat hanging over her happiness.  No matter how smoothly things appeared to be going, despite William’s, Peel’s, Wellington’s assurances that there were no real insurmountable obstacles to her remarriage, Victoria could not shake the sense of dread, vague and yet palpable. When she tried to reason herself out of it, thinking that legal barriers were non-existent, religious barriers likewise, and dynastic considerations now moot with two healthy heirs in the nursery, the cloud refused to entirely disperse. When she recalled that all former opponents to their union – Uncle Leopold, Cumberland, her own mother – were reconciled, she was not persuaded to abandon her fears. _Something_ , she felt, _some one_ still wished them ill, did not want them to be together, and the way forward was not assured. That, more even than her longing to have him fully and openly at her side, was what compelled Victoria to demand the date for their marriage to be announced and William recognized must be advanced.

**

Melbourne had returned to his lodgings in South Street, and found the rooms dingy from disuse, the air chill and dank. He called for what servants loitered about and were sober enough to attend, demanding a fire and some rearrangement of the dust and grime. Melbourne realized, looking about him, that his bachelor lifestyle had long since lost whatever it appeal it may have previously had. He knew himself to be a man who needed the stimulation of others around him to avoid falling into melancholy, and he much preferred the company of women. He was out of the habit of solitude, having the leisure to read and write was only satisfying when he could steal time away from the busyness of the Palace, knowing she was somewhere about, certain to interrupt him in the most delightful ways. It had been six years since he’d been on his own, and over three since every corner of his life had filled to overflowing with the unorthodox family to which he now belonged, and he had no desire to return to a solitary state. Victoria above all, and his children, but Albert had been a part of that family too – throwing himself headlong with the impulsivity of youth into each new interest, friendly toward and frankly admiring of Melbourne, a fond brother to the Queen and doting uncle to her children. His death was a tragic waste of a young life through nothing more, it seemed, than alcohol and happenstance.

Melbourne tolerated his own company only as long as it took to stir the servants to action, then took his letters and headed for his club in search of some company.

 _What news from the Palace?_ was the standard greeting from his friends, a mere commonplace now, and his standard rejoinder, _It’s still standing_ the expected response. No more did even a knowing glance pass between those who knew him best, and that was most of _le beau monde._ He took up a post in the Great Subscription Room, reading, writing, catching up on news and gossip from those of his many friends who passed through. Parliament was not in session and many had retired to their country homes not yet returned, but he was able to pass a tolerable afternoon and evening amongst old cronies with tolerable conviviality.

Melbourne’s night was passed with much brandy and little reading, an open Epistle on his lap going unnoticed as he stared at the flames, lost in contemplation. He felt out of place in his own home as he did in his own skin, away from _her_ , and a small voice mocked the notion of a man of his years so habituated to the presence of a young woman he felt lost without her. And yet…and yet…it was a bondage he had no desire to break free of. The contemplation of Victoria – his sweet, lively, strong-minded Victoria – softened his expression with love as he sat in the darkness aching for her.

On his second day away from the Palace Melbourne was strolling down St. James when he was greeted by a familiar voice calling out to him from a carriage.

François Guizot, the former French ambassador hailed him. Melbourne found himself swept up and carried to the ambassador’s residence. Guizot had first presented his credentials at the Court of St. James during Melbourne’s tenure and had returned France to form a Ministry for his king. Surprised to see him in London, Melbourne went along willingly, eager enough to learn what was happening in the world once more. Aberdeen would be joining them and Melbourne was intrigued at the presence, if not _incognito_ then at least unpublicized, of the French foreign minister in London.

Monsieur Guizot was too polished a diplomat to speak in any way other than obliquely. Melbourne found the meandering conversation as amusing as it was pointless. Even so, he had missed the sense of being at the center of things and attended to, and wondered whether his presence was accounted for by his former position or his current, he was not sure.

It was only when the name of Stockmar was first uttered that Melbourne’s senses went on the alert.

“So you did not know?” Guizot made a show of looking abashed, contrite for the spilling of secrets, which of course Melbourne knew had been quite deliberate.

“I confess, I did not, m’sieur. Who the devil invited him?”

“He is a private citizen, so of course he needs no invitation. My King is only concerned because he comes here from Metternich, and from him to Spain. Moreover, Lord Aberdeen tells me that he is a guest of the House of Cambridge. If Her Majesty is content to have it so, I do not wish to appear as though I am meddling. No monarch, after all, would tolerate _meddling_ in their affairs. My King certainly would not.”

Melbourne thought about it – what would Stockmar, devastated by the loss of his protégé Albert and presumably confined to his sickbed, prostate from grief, be doing in London? And without announcing himself to the Queen? He briefly considered whether the Queen had known and forgotten or chose not to mention; he was able to dismiss the notion before it had fully formed. This would bear watching.

“Stockmar’s a wily one, and far too involved in British politics for far too long. He’s been hobnobbing with Young England too, and that’s something I intend to bring to Peel’s attention,” Aberdeen growled.

“Disraeli? Really? Odd bedfellows if ever I heard of them. Gentlemen, this is most peculiar. The only thing I can contribute is, that fellow lost all hope of control with the death of the Prince and I would expect he’s here to find a new foothold in our government.” Guizot looked as satisfied as he could while maintaining at least the veneer of casual disinterest.

“You don’t think he’s making any marriage plans with the Infanta then?” Guizot asked pointedly. “My government would not look kindly on another Coburg marrying yet another Queen. Or, for that matter, a _Cambridge_ doing so.”

Various other speculations flew about the table over port and cigars, but none were closer to the mark than that.

“Can either of you reassure my King that he at least isn’t proposing _another_ German marriage for your Queen? And that your _dauphin,_ your Crown Prince, will remain in England and not be removed to Rosenau for his education?”

Melbourne frowned and looked at Lord Aberdeen, willing him to speak.

““I did hear that Stockmar has been corresponding with our Home Secretary on the status of the police investigation into His Serene Highness’s death. But that’s now closed. Monsieur Guizot, you may assure your King that the Prince of Wales is the child of England and will not travel to foreign soil, for his education or otherwise. As for the Queen – she is a widow of only three months, and I strongly doubt whether she will entertain another State marriage when she contemplates matrimony. We have the Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal; if and when Her Majesty decides to marry again, it will be a private matter and certainly not one in which Baron Stockmar will have a voice.” Aberdeen’s voice was strong and sure and Melbourne blessed him. _Had Peel told him?_ He wondered. 

Guizot lay a hand over his heart. “Lord Aberdeen, you have given me the reassurances my own King seeks. He would be the first to stand Her Majesty’s friend in the matter of a _private_ rather than State marriage, to one of her own subjects. A marriage such as that would do nothing to threaten the _entente_ _cordiale_ which we have formed between our great nations. I fear overturning the entente is exactly what Metternich and the Northern courts desire.”

“Lord Melbourne, please, allow me to extend to you His Majesty King Louis-Phillipe’s offer of friendship. He was a great admirer of your _regime_ , and he knows you to be a fair and impartial man. He hopes to visit this country and your Queen later this year. Perhaps he may arrive at an _opportune_ time.”

Melbourne should have been flattered and reassured by the pointed assurance of French support – since Peel’s administration had been the authors of the first lasting French détente, it would perhaps count for something at home too, although any foreign support was a minefield he preferred not to tread – but instead he felt disquiet at the re-emergence of Stockmar, never a friend of his and a wily, calculating snake. _Stockmar in England without the Queen’s knowledge – that can’t be good,_ Melbourne reflected.

When he took his leave, Melbourne hesitated only a moment before turning to Stanhope Street and the lodgings of his old friend Baroness Holland. He determined to pay her a late call and see who was about. Since her husband’s passing, the political dinners at Holland House had ceased, but Elizabeth Fox was still a fixture in diplomatic and literary circles, all the more so since the Queen had received her and by doing so lifted the ban on her entry into polite society.

Melbourne knew he needed no invitation to appear on the doorstep of his old friend and she embraced him effusively. Her reputation for rudeness notwithstanding, Melbourne had always found her to be a warm, understanding friend.

They chatted about mutual acquaintances, exchanging the easy repartee interspersed with sharp commentary that Melbourne had always enjoyed. Elizabeth still knew everyone and more importantly, knew their secrets.

“So tell me, William, what brings you to my doorstep as the clock tolls midnight? I assume it’s not in hopes of a liaison. You and I like each other far to much for _that_.” He smiled at her teasing, liking her greatly, reflecting how strange it was to see her here, living alone, without Henry at her side. Theirs had been a love affair for the ages.

 “Have you ever noticed, my dear, that the more free time one has the less appealing it is to spend?”

“You ask _me_ that? William, I can school you on the misery of free time.”

“As bad as that? My dear, why don’t you come to Court? You know everyone and Victoria would be much amused by your sharp tongue to take the wind out of those _haut ton_ who intimidate her so.”

“ _I_ come to court and dance attendance on the Queen?” She laughed gaily but he did not miss the sharp undertone.

“Victoria is not like that, Elizabeth. She is young, it is true, but no milquetoast miss and has very little patience with the strictures they try to set about her.”

“You always did have a fondness for the wild ones, eh? Although I thought this one is a veritable pattern card of propriety and good German values.” Now her voice was heavy with sarcasm and Melbourne was almost annoyed.

“You misjudge her, ma’am. She received you, after all, and thumbed her nose at the traditionalists who insisted no divorced woman should be permitted. Moreover, she did so for reasons you would find _tres amusant._ ”

“Oh? Do tell. I assumed it was your intercession that brought me back into society.”

“Hardly. I do not impose on Her Majesty, Elizabeth. No, she received you, and quite warmly, as I recall…so that the _other_ divorced woman of my acquaintance would have her nose put quite out of joint at your expense. So now you may again dine in society and –“

“- and your Mrs. Norton still can not. Prettily done, I admit. Oh…have her invite me to a drawing room. Something more _intime_ than a _levée_. If we get on and I don’t find her too simpering I will consider a position at court. Only to wile away the time and please you, William.” She patted his hand with every indication of offering him reassurance and he tried not to smile, understanding well her fierce pride and independence.

“So tell me why you have so much free time, and why you are not at the Palace. Or, at least, why you are not returning to the Palace. I thought you have an apartment there. Does her little Majesty not expect you in attendance?”

“The Prince Consort’s death changed everything, Elizabeth. As long as he was alive to lend countenance, my presence was not _particularly_ marked, at least not by those whose opinions matter. Now…for now, the Queen is supposed to be in mourning and the presence of her _adviser_ is considered _superfluous_.”

“Oh William! What nonsense! Who dare suggest such a thing?”

“The Conservatives and those damn reformers in the Lower House, I suspect. de la Warr is their mouthpiece on this issue. Wellington and Peel are understanding enough but concerned about appearance.”

“Is it true there is some scandal attached to his death? Or was he the moral crusader they’d have us believe? I long heard rumors that he was…not a terribly _ardent_ bridegroom, would be putting it most generously. And yet there is an heir.”

Melbourne did not respond, and he was aware of her looking at him sharply.

“So what happens? Will she be expected to remarry? Do they have another German prince waiting in line?” Melbourne continued looked at her levelly.

“William! No! Really?” Elizabeth Holland squealed with delight in a manner quite unbecoming a woman of her years. Melbourne was amused at her reaction.

“The Queen has done me the honor of asking me to marry her, and I have accepted. Don’t say it, Elizabeth. I am quite aware of the extreme difference in age and status between us. But… I love her, and she loves me.” He shrugged, a very Gallic gesture that wrung his friend’s heart.

“You are charming and a _very_ handsome man, William. She will not _bore_ you? I thought you were drawn to the more…”

“No, Elizabeth, she will not bore me.” He knew he wore the face of a man in love, and was not sorry to show it.

“They want us to wait a year.”

“’ _They’_? Who else knows?”

“Peel, Wellington. The Duchess of Kent and the Queen’s uncle. The new reigning Grand Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Only our politicians insist on the need to wait. Her Majesty’s and his late Highness’s family are supportive.”

“Emily and Fred of course?”

“Of course. And now you.”

“Of course I shall not breathe a word.”

“There’s more. The Queen and I…have already married, privately. When we make the thing public there will need to be a second ceremony, here in London, for show, but…we are already husband and wife. I finally made right a very stupid mistake I made some years ago in turning her down the first time she asked.”

Melbourne saw with amusement that for once his old friend was rendered speechless, her mouth unbecomingly open in frank shock.

“William!” She breathed. “She proposed marriage previously? _Before_ the German?” Lady Holland lapsed into thoughtful silence, digesting the information. “I suppose I should say I am happy for you but I would rather wish you luck. I understand all too well the difficulties of making a love match when there are barriers. Is all going smoothly or is there cause for concern?”

“There is always cause for concern, Elizabeth. You know the gutter press, the political climate…but…yes, please, say you are happy for me because I am quite happy in spite of the difficulties ahead.”

“I always knew of course, about your _tendré_. Not that she’d gone so far as to propose marriage. Or that you were fool enough to turn her away. Be that as it may…if you are happy with her, I am happy for you, my dear. Life is far too short for all of us to turn away any chance to love and be loved.

“And the children? Will the Prince’s family permit her to raise them without interference? Or will they play a role?”

“I’m sure they will maintain cordial relations. Duke Ernst is genuinely supportive, and even Leopold has come around in the past few years. He came to accept how things were, as long as he had his nephew near the throne. And…they have nothing to gain by interference and understand that. Crown Prince Liam is…is a joy, Elizabeth. You remember how it was with Augustus. Liam is…perfect in every way.” Melbourne’s voice softened and cracked with emotion and Lady Holland saw the tears in his eyes.

“The boy is yours,” She said flatly. “ _Both_ of them? You’re sure? There’s no doubt of that?”

“They are mine without any doubt.”

“I will never breathe a word of it. The boy must be seen as legitimate. You may never claim him but…you are close to him? He knows? He will grow up knowing your relationship?”

“He knows as much as any three year old is capable of knowing. I flatter myself he is attached to me.”

“And you? You are attached to him?”

“Elizabeth…he is my life, he and the princess Elizabeth, and Victoria.” Melbourne chuckled and shook his head. “As for those who might be tempted to claim that an alliance with the Queen gives me some advantage, or promises personal gain…I can only think they’ve not spent much time at court. I cannot imagine anything more tedious, less advantageous to any man of sense and ambition, than aligning oneself with royalty in a constitutional monarchy. It is all disadvantage, confinement and a ludicrous degree of constriction. Our late Prince struggled to be allowed to exercise his considerable talents in any capacity he could, and encountered innumerable barriers. No…there is no advantage whatsoever except…Victoria. I love her and so accept the rest. If I were a younger man, with hope of a career ahead of me…” He turned up his hands, then gave her his most charming smile, endearing because it showed his vulnerability and the depth of his feelings. “Now, I am content to walk three steps behind her at every event and stand silent in ceremonial uniform. Effectively intellectually and occupationally castrated.

But Elizabeth, Victoria in private is…exceptional. You are yourself a strong-willed, strong-minded woman with a too-quick temper and stinging tongue. Those traits alone tell me you would see some of yourself in my Victoria.”

“Well. I may well accept a place at court if your Queen offers one. I had imagined it was a tedious place, insufferably boring. Instead I learn it’s as good as a play. No wonder Emma Portman clings to her position.”

She embraced her old friend. “You can not leave now. We _must_ have champagne and have a toast to your future.”


	10. Chapter 10

Four nights were to pass before Melbourne returned to the Palace. He arrived without fanfare and made for his apartment by the least-travelled route. Sending a hall page to summon his underemployed valet from the servants’ hall, Melbourne entered his own rooms with a great feeling of relief. Thanks to the talents of young George Van Wettin, he was spared the ornamentation and gilt of the public rooms. He’d given George free rein in redecorating the space and it all suited his tastes very well, feeling more like home than anyplace except Brocket Hall. He sank down into his favorite armchair intending only to rest his eyes, but awoke some time later with Baines shaking his shoulder gently.

He bathed and dressed for dinner according to the valet’s specifications and delayed joining the Queen and her guests long enough to detour to the nursery. His visit was brief enough to be heart-rending, because of the little prince’s solemn disappointment when he had to leave again and the babbling, cooing delight that was the baby princess, nearly six months old and coming into her own as an accredited beauty, so said her doting father. Baroness Lehzen wasn’t about to disagree, saying that indeed, the Princess was the prettiest baby she’d ever seen, with her mother’s dark blue eyes and soft dark curls feathering about her face.

Melbourne quietly joined the guests queuing outside the dining room, silently blessing his valet for insisting on formal attire. He recognized most of those in attendance, peers and a few minor royals, George Cambridge looking quite martial in his regimentals and a duo of swarthy Eastern Europeans he pegged as stateless aristos lurked with Byronesque – the description popped into his mind with some humor –good looks. When the Queen was announced they all turned as one, forming two lines for her to pass down, greeting each guest in turn. Her attention fully occupied, she didn’t see Melbourne until she stood before him and when she looked up he was well-rewarded by the light that entered her eyes, her heightened color and the spark that leapt between them. He bowed over hand formally, squeezing her fingers gently, caressing her palm with his thumb.

“Lord M, how _good_ to see you back. You have been gone far too long. Please give me your arm. I would like you to lead me in to dinner.”

The steward at her elbow murmured a gentle reminder of precedent, to which she snapped, “Then the Moldavian princes may lead each other. There are two; let them walk in together. And my cousin the Duke of Cambridge may lead…oh, the devil, pair him with my mother. I am walking in with Lord Melbourne.”

She laid her hand on his arm most imperiously and walked with him past her other guests to the head of the line.

“You’ve managed to annoy at least half your guests, ma’am. And amuse the other half. Well done! Now they have something to talk about at table.” Melbourne spoke in a drawling undertone that was meant to make her giggle, and did.

“Ohhh I’ve missed you so. Dare I plead headache and retire straight away?” Victoria kept a serene half-smile on her face and stared straight ahead as she stepped into the formal dining room on his arm.

“I’ve been thinking of nothing but this night and you have a _head ache_? I am crushed!” Her blue eyes twinkled and her cheeks flushed prettily.

“I have no such thing and you know it. Shush now. You make me quite..warm.”

Victoria was restless through the innumerable courses, Melbourne knew, but watched approvingly from his place on her left as she played her part well. Always sensitive to the rigidity of protocol, she had long since mastered the art of appearing far more interested in her food than she was, moving things about with her fork to prevent the snatching away of everyone’s meal when the Queen was finished. Happily, protocol had placed her cousin George at the far end of the table and Victoria and Melbourne were each able to converse easily with their neighbors.

When the last course had been removed and the ladies prepared to leave Victoria whispered “ _Five minutes…”_ and Melbourne laughed easily; it was an old familiar joke between them, from her earliest days as sovereign. She still disliked the lengthy segregation – she would always prefer the company of gentlemen, especially Melbourne himself –but had loosened her prohibition on lingering over port and cigars.

Melbourne joined her in the drawing room, taking his accustomed seat at her side – by long custom kept empty when he was not present, for Victoria disliked having anyone else in close proximity – and joining the conversation.

The two visiting Moldavian princes, presented as Jean and Basile, bowed before the Queen and she graciously welcomed them to London and spent several minutes conversing with them about the sights they’d seen and whether they had visited any notable sites in the capital.

“It is our first trip to your country, Your Majesty. We had always intended to come sooner but had no occasion to present ourselves at your Court.”

“We met Baron Stockmar in Geneva and he kindly offered to present us to Your Majesty. Unfortunately he has been ill and so was unable to attend this evening.”

“Stockmar? Is he in London?” Victoria asked sharply, glancing at Melbourne to see whether he was attending.

Melbourne in fact was listening closely; his attention had been caught by the single name “Geneva” and after that, the insertion of Stockmar’s name seemed almost inevitable.

Victoria presented him to each of the men in turn. Melbourne bowed stiffly and held his breath, waiting for the next words he knew he would hear. He was not disappointed.

“Former Prime Minister Melbourne. I do not expect you remember my name, sir. It’s been almost ten years and we never did meet then. I understood at the time you considered yourself unable to spare the time to make my acquaintance. Perhaps you did not consider me worthy of your attention. I looked forward to finally meeting you.”

Victoria looked up curiously at the exchange. Melbourne smiled and shrugged lazily.

“Perhaps you are correct, sir. I’m afraid I don’t recollect. It is of no significance. You have found your way to London now, for which we can thank our friend Baron Stockmar. Please excuse me.” He turned on his heel and walked across the room, ostensibly in search of refreshment. When he was out of sight behind a group of ladies Melbourne wiped his brow and sighed heavily. _Were the stars aligned against us_? He wondered. Two nobodies from central Europe, itinerant exiled minor nobles with which the Continent was littered after the many _petit_ revolutions of the last fifty years; what were the odds that Susan’s frustrated suitor, her penniless first love, would turn up here, in the Queen’s drawing room, courtesy of his old nemesis Baron Stockmar?

At the stroke of eleven the Queen rose, and guests scrambled to do likewise. According to the choreographed movements they’d perfected long since, Victoria and one Lady-in-Waiting walked to her apartment while Emma lingered, talking with Melbourne in desultory tones until the corridor had emptied.

“You look troubled, William,” she asked her old friend as they strolled slowly to the wing where his apartment was situated. “Are you feeling quite well?”

Melbourne sighed. “Things are becoming complicated, Emma. I sometimes fear I will never get free of those who wish to see me away from the Queen.”

“What now? I thought the worst was behind you. Her family is supportive of you. The Duchess of Kent is as close to cordiality as I’ve ever seen her, and the King of the Belgians is downright congenial.”

“Frankly, I’m not sure. Stockmar…Caroline Norton…now these princes show up uninvited. They were nobodies in Geneva in 1834 and they are nobodies now, but nobodies who can cause…disruption.”

“Why? Who are they to you, William?”

“The one, Prince Jean, was Susan’s first love, or so she imagined. She was poorly chaperoned by Lady Brandon and as her guardian I sent him packing. She was too young and he was bent on seducing her. I don’t doubt his heart was engaged but he was well aware of her relationship to me and sought to use it to establish himself.”

Emma Portman had drawn her breath in sharply. “How much do you think she told him?”

“She was a young girl in the throes of first love. How do I know what she told him? Probably everything and more, for young girls do like to embellish. He’s still an adventurer if I’m not mistaken, here seeking advantage. Stockmar somehow found out about him, and his connection to me, and it’s one more weapon in his arsenal to discredit me.” Melbourne shook off his gloom and forced a smile.

“Never mind, Emma. Perhaps I’m catastrophizing and if not…there’s nothing much I can do about it tonight. Tonight I will be with _her_ and nothing else matters.”

Lady Portman’s expression was severe. “William, you need to sit her down and go over every single thing that anyone could think to use against you. Before this goes any further. She loves you, William, and she’s matured a  great deal in the past few years. But you must, _must_ , lay all your cards on the table. Nothing good will come from her finding out your secrets piecemeal. I don’t think any love could survive the constant drip-drip of revelations coming one at a time.”

Melbourne leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I will bear that in mind, Emma. Good night.”

His apartment was seemingly situated at a respectable distance from the Queen’s private apartment. Thanks to the genius of Albert’s young architect friend, however, appearances were deceiving and in fact a door in the bedroom of Melbourne’s apartment opened into the Queen’s dressing room, for the two apartments were situated at right angles down separate corridors.

He had dismissed his valet after ridding himself of his formal attire and, dressed in loose breeches and shirt and his old comfortable dressing gown, had thrown himself down on his bed, intending to read for a while by the light of a single candle.

Only a short time passed before he heard telltale rustling and the pocket door slid open. He only just had time to rise when Victoria entered. She hesitated only a moment before throwing herself into his waiting arms.

 _How well she fits_ , he marveled, enveloping her, resting his chin on her head.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” She said. “This is all _stupid_ and _unbearable_! Do you know, my uncle Cumberland had the audacity to write me suggesting I meet the younger son of some Balkan nonentity? I suppose the good news is he’s abandoned all hope of outliving me and our children, so now he wants to put his puppet in place for whatever good he imagines it would do him.” Melbourne adored hearing her girlish prattle, which only he was privileged to hear, for with him she lost all her dignity and could be the delightful uninhibited young woman she was meant to be. “Liam wrote _all_  his names yesterday. Not even four! Lehzen said he’s undeniably advanced, even a _genius_. William Albert Augustus, all at one go, can you imagine?”

“Mmmmm” was the only response he could produce, unwilling to raise his head, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair.

“Did _you_ miss me? Or do you enjoy your periods of freedom away from all this?” She pulled back enough to turn her face up and look into his.

“Me? Never! I pine continually, Madame. Lord Melbourne begs leave of Her Majesty to show her how grievously he longed for her.”

He bent over her and kissed her waiting lips, a long stirring kiss neither wanted to interrupt. When she began to rub against him, showing her uninhibited delight in his very patent response, he allowed her to free him and, still standing, caress him with her soft eager fingers. They were slow and generous in their explorations, and the physicality they shared was so much part of the fabric of their bond that they talked and laughed and played throughout, until she began leading him back to the big four-poster bed. Victoria’s introduction to lovemaking had been one more thing Melbourne taught her, but in her innocent enthusiasm she had taught him too, taught him how to give and receive pleasure as a natural extension of loving friendship, taught him that with a love as deep as theirs everything else would flow effortlessly, with neither expectation nor demand. With Victoria, it simply _was_ , as natural as breathing.

As Melbourne elicited soft moans of pleasure, as she in turn touched and stroked and lapped with her delicate little tongue, rough-soft as a kitten’s, he distantly remembered that his responses as a younger man in different circumstances had never been this natural and unforced. With Victoria, he required no extreme sensation to respond because the physical ecstasy she gave him was unlike anything he’d experienced previously. He’d had more skilled partners, certainly, and had introduced others to acts exotic enough to require deliberation and technical expertise. It was only in the arms of this girl he found the one thing he’d always craved, that had eluded him. As it turned out, after decades of living, Melbourne had discovered what he’d lacked was a full measure of love given and returned. The adoration with which his darling Victoria showered him, the all-consuming veneration he felt for her, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.  To Victoria, this kind of passion inextricably intertwined with love and devotion, admiration and respect, was all she knew. When Melbourne imagined having to tell her there were far different experiences, acts borne not in love, not even in lust, but in the lack of it, he almost shuddered with horror. Those were things he did not want her to know. The love he’d craved his entire life rested in the young, warm body he held, pulsing with desire for him, and he would never allow it to be tainted.

She’d brought with her a sheaf of documents, and after their lovemaking, still quite unclothed, Victoria leaned against his chest and began to look through them.

“I would like your opinion on this –“ Anticipating his demurral, she corrected herself. “I would like you to read this and explain your perception of the context. Add anything you think I should know. I never understand things nearly as well when you’re not at hand to explain them. You know _everything_ about _everything_ and _everyone_.”

Melbourne did as she asked, adding the colorful, amusing personal anecdotes which helped her form a more clear understanding of the people and places in her realm.

They went through several other documents – nearly the entire contents of her dispatch box, he reckoned – and she demonstrated her comprehension by asking succinct follow-up questions and formulating the responses she would give to each matter when her Prime Minister next attended her.

“Are you tired yet? Should I stop teasing you with these details?” Victoria asked solicitously at one point. Melbourne failed to stifle a yawn, and conceded some weariness.

“Well, you will be here tomorrow. I wish you would sit in on my interview with Peel, and with the Russian ambassador. You are my _adviser_ , after all.”

He blew out the candle and wound himself around her, tucking her into the curve of his body, and when she made the small purr of pleasure which spoke of her contentment he was pleased.

“William…” She murmured sleepily. “I have determined that we will announce our marriage to the Privy Council before I open Parliament. I want you at my side for that, and for the Diplomatic Reception. As my husband and first Lord of the Realm. I want them all to bow to you and make obeisance.”

“My darling girl, that will never happen and it shouldn’t. I am not a royal and if we expect them to accept our marriage, the peers will never bow to one of their own. Nor would I want them to. Frankly, I can’t imagine anything more appalling than fellows I went to Eton with kissing the hem of my robe. Now be a good girl and go to sleep.”

“You didn’t say we could not announce our marriage!” She sounded gleeful and Melbourne suddenly appreciated her ploy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Victoria rolled over and showered him with kisses. “Finally, I can be your wife in the eyes of the world!” Resigned – relieved, if truth be told, at the prospect of getting the worst of it over with sooner rather than later – Melbourne huffed a small laugh and kissed the tip of her nose.

“We will tell Peel at his next audience. If you permit, I’d like to speak with him alone on the matter. He’ll feel able to vent with me, and then show you his best face. Now sleep, sweet girl.” Wrapped in his arms, her head on his shoulder, Victoria exhaled her contentment and slept.


	11. Chapter 11

Victoria opened her eyes before dawn, suddenly and fully awake. She lay in the dark, her pulse pounding and her breath coming fast. _I must have had a nightmare_ , she thought, grateful for the warm solid presence beside her. He was sleeping soundly so she nestled against his back and put one arm around his waist, waiting for sleep to return.

Instead her mind cast over the anxiety she’d felt for the past several months, since Albert’s death. That something loomed to threaten her happiness, Victoria had no doubt. She sometimes felt as though she were trapped in a web, surrounded by smiling faces which hid jealousy, greed and scheming. Worse, her family was at the center of it all. _Family_! This man beside her and the children they’d made were family. Mama, despite her _rapprochement_ , had always put Sir John Conroy and her own need for recognition first; Uncle Leopold, his determination to rule the country which had slipped through his grasp with Charlotte’s death. Her other uncles, cousins…all because the daughter of a younger son had defied all odds to inherit the throne.

 _What could happen now_? She mused, determined to uncover the source of her unease. She was well and truly Queen and the monarchy under no special attack. There were republicans in the House of Commons and reformers in the streets but no revolutionaries to speak of – Lord M had been right about that. So… _what can threaten our happiness now_?

Losing Lord M – that was the only thing she truly feared. The unthinkable – that he could sicken and die – was not allowed to take shape in her imagination; her mind refused to form the words. They couldn’t be separated again by some foreign marriage. In point of fact Victoria had studied enough of her own constitution to know even in 1839 there was no legal barrier to their marriage, only William’s sense of duty. Those who cited the Royal Marriages Act overlooked the necessary step of reading it first. Heirs to the Throne who married needed the _Sovereign’s_ consent. Any marriage contracted without the consent of the monarch was to be null and void. It did not preclude the reigning King or Queen from contracting their _own_ marriage to a commoner or lesser noble.

Victoria rose up and leaned over him, lightly kissing his shoulder and then pulling up the bedcovers with an almost maternal tenderness. How she adored this man! The love she bore him washed over her in a powerful wave, along with a far different emotion. Victoria felt with relief the constant low-grade anxiety fade, replaced by the old familiar steely determination that had kept her strong throughout the dark days of her childhood at Kensington. She thought of John Conroy, for the first time not entirely with loathing. He had taught her how to resist, how to stay strong in the face of overwhelming opposition and ultimately how to use and channel the unbridled temper of her early childhood into an icy rage. For that, she was grateful to him. A happier childhood would not have given her the tools with which to fight, to vanquish an adversary through sheer force of will. All the while she was struggling to resist his dictatorial "Kensington System" and his efforts to control her, Victoria had promised herself that once she reached her majority she would never be controlled by anyone again.

She studied those beautiful manly features she knew so well, traced the line of his profile with her fingertip, softly kissed the tissue-thin skin at the corner of his eyes.

Let them try to separate us again! She thought angrily. Any of them! I am the Queen, and I will not be dictated to. A chill went through her as she realized they would not attack from the front. No, it would be a stealthy campaign, a war of attrition. Because she _was_ the Queen they could not openly oppose her marriage. _Instead_ … _they would_ …Victoria gasped as the answer presented itself in broad, harsh strokes. _They will_ use _me. They will try to make me turn against him_. I _am the only one who can dissolve our marriage and send him away_. It was so obvious she wondered that it had not occurred to her before. Lord M himself had warned her, had told her there was much in his past which would be used against him. Victoria had thought he referred only to tittle-tattle, the rumor-mongering which was part of the fabric of society amongst the upper ten thousand. She knew he had had many affairs, as did all gentlemen and many ladies. Victoria had given the matter some thought, because the concept was alien to her, not from any prudish condemnation but because her heart had been so filled with love for one man for so long, literally since the day she came of age and he’d knelt before her, that she simply couldn’t comprehend indulging in such intimacies for simple physical pleasure. Still, she knew that her father, her uncles and cousins, every male of her acquaintance did likewise and she shrugged it off as just another way in which people differed, no more startling than Albert’s preference for gentlemen rather than ladies as intimate companions. In some part of her mind, of course, possessive anger flashed and popped, making sparks which were easily extinguished. When she thought of _him_ , the talks they’d had, his humor, the light-hearted whimsy which formed the core of his delicious charm, and thought that this amazing man had chosen to love _her_ , Victoria’s love and pride easily overshadowed her jealousy.

No, Victoria thought, there was no old scandal, no past liaison, which could erupt into something threatening to their marriage. As if in remonstrance, her mind threw up one name – Caroline Norton. The woman was obsessed with William yet, and determined that if she couldn’t win him back she would spoil Victoria’s happiness. This, Victoria knew. _That woman_ had been a thorn in her side for far too long, her biting wit and loquacious mocking commentary intended to find its way back to the palace. _Well,_ Victoria told herself, _if that woman wants to cause trouble then I will give her trouble. Since my being Queen doesn’t stop her, well, I am also a rich woman and there are those loyal to me and others who seek to please me for friendship or preferment. I will find a way to rid myself of_ that woman _and the trouble she causes._

Victoria stared off into the middle distance, unaware that a martial light glittered in her eyes, a harder expression than Melbourne was accustomed to seeing there. Her nostrils flared, her mouth was set in a determined line and she lifted her chin as though facing down an enemy. As she was quite naked, with tousled hair streaming down her back in tangles and waves, he was amused at the juxtaposition.

“Are we going into battle, my lady? You look quite ready to lead an army.” He spoke softly and she turned, startled. As soon as she looked at him her face softened once more.

“I love you, William Lamb.” Victoria propped herself over him and lowered herself onto his chest, brushing his lips with her own. “You are beautiful asleep. But then, you are beautiful awake too.”

He put his hands on her waist and tumbled her off so she lay beside him. He ran the flat of his hand over her stomach and lower, lower, enjoying the tease and her ready response.

“I love you, Mrs. Melbourne. And since you have done me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife…today we begin telling the world.”

Victoria stroked his face, her eyes full of love and determination. “And no matter what happens, we will face it together.” She hesitated. “There is _nothing_ that can stand in our way.”

**

After Victoria left his bed to return to her own apartment by way of the discrete passage built to facilitate such an arrangement, Melbourne sat up in bed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The first order of business was not talking to Peel; his interview was not scheduled until 04:00 and although William intended to send him a note asking he arrive somewhat earlier, there was still enough time to address the matter weighing on his mind. Those damn itinerant stateless princes washed up on this shores and send to the Palace with the stench of Stockmar all over them. He considered his options. There was a letter from Susan in the stack of correspondence he’d brought back with him, the usual bright chatter about her husband and family, nothing untoward. Now that she’d embraced that damn queer religious sect she was no longer troublesome, but nothing could completely squelch the shades of Caroline in her forthright tone. He scanned the crossed lines quickly and saw nothing problematic. Other, of course, than the fact of her existence, and how to explain it to Victoria. No, he corrected himself, how to explain why he was only now doing so, when forced by unpleasant circumstance. Emma had long since advised him to be completely forthcoming and get it all out in the open.

Melbourne knew it was his long-standing habit of avoiding anything the least bit uncomfortable, more than any sense of guilt or consciousness of wrong-doing, that had kept him silent. He’d never thought it _mattered_ ; Susan was married and in Switzerland with a family of her own, content with the allowance he sent her. Between that and the pension he paid Caroline Norton and Lady Brandon he’d been on the verge of penury for years, declining honors for no reason other than he had not the means to accept them. Even the Order of the Garter, offered by the old King and later by Victoria, would have cost him £300 a year, money he could not spare. And now he was husband to a Queen and damned if he would accept a penny from her, which left him in an odd situation, should he have to add bankruptcy to his long list of failings.

She deserved far, far better than him of course, his bright shining girl, _Gloriana_ , sovereign of the greatest nation on earth. It was the devil of a predicament to be in all around, and yet here he was and he wouldn’t wish himself anywhere else.

He rose and rang for his valet, determined to start the day and the rest of his life as the best husband he could be to his Victoria.

**

When Melbourne ambled into the breakfast room Victoria was on her way out. She stopped him in the doorway, her face upturned. “Lord M! I nearly missed saying good morning!” Her impish smile earned his in return.

“Where is Your Majesty off to so early? What is on your schedule today?”

Victoria turned back and went to pour him coffee. The Duchess of Kent and Princess Feodora both took notice and somewhat belatedly rose to greet him, her husband jolted by his wife into following suit. Melbourne sketched a half-hearted bow meant to include them all, uncomfortable with the sudden show of deference.

“William, I have told Mama and dear Feodora our news. I wanted our families to know before informing Peel.”

Melbourne inclined his head in acknowledgement, amused at Victoria’s neat manipulation. He hoped most earnestly she knew what she was about, declaring herself – them – so openly.

“Lord Melbourne, I must greet you as a son now,” the Duchess cooed, stretching her neck with the clear intention of bussing him on the cheek. Her daughter, more reserved but also, he thought, less strategic in her shifting alliances, held back. Her husband, another stateless Prince, clicked his heels and waved a vague salute.

“Thank you, Duchess,” Melbourne lifted her hand and brushed his lips near her knuckles, averting the kiss she had been prepared to deliver. “I am honored beyond words…”

“Thank you, Mama. Lord Melbourne – William – is hardly a stranger. I think if he knows we have your support it will be the best welcome to our family you can offer.”

“My support? Why, Drina, my support counts for nothing, but of course, Lord Melbourne’s devotion to you has long been known, and your happiness is all that I care for.”

“Prettily said, Mama.” Victoria kissed her mother’s powdered cheek. “William does make me happy. He is my best friend and the man I am meant to be with, so I am glad we agree.” She turned to her older half-sister. “Dearest Feo, will you wish your new brother happy? I know _you_ enter into my sentiments on this occasion.”

Melbourne, knowing the sister to be one of the few people in Victoria’s family who had been consistently a kind and disinterested observer, smiled at her warmly.

“I am aware this may be a surprise, Princess, Duchess. There was no intent to deceive you. We only wanted to refrain from creating a distraction during this time of mourning the late Prince.”

“Who you all know was extremely fond of Lord Melbourne. I know he would be happy for us.” Victoria added sharply. _Easy, sweetheart_ , he thought. _You must let them come to terms with it._

“I have an early audience, a private meeting set up through dear Lehzen. William, will you walk with me to my office?”

“At least, if Lord Melbourne is to take up residence here again, he can serve as your secretary so your _governess_ can return to the nursery. I can’t imagine what she knows about matters of State,” the Duchess said sharply. Melbourne’s mouth twitched. He and Lehzen had always shared that much, in addition to their devotion to Victoria: they were equally resented for their intimacy with the Queen.

“I am at Your Majesty’s service,” he murmured.

As they walked through the corridors, Victoria let her hand brush his. “ _Do_ you want to be my Private Secretary again? I will not impose if you think it would be a trial to you.”

“I would be honored, ma’am, but can we see what Peel has to say? I do want to reassure him that I have no intention of usurping his authority or influence.” Victoria pursed her lips, not particularly pleased with his response.

“If you say so, _husband_ ,” she finally replied.

“So with whom are you meeting privately?” Melbourne asked.

“One of the princes who attended my Drawing Room last night. Prince Jean. He comes with a letter of introduction from Stockmar, which is certainly no recommendation at all. I do not forget what trouble that man attempted to cause the last time he visited.”

Melbourne felt his mind go blank for an instant. Then, before he could think better of it, he spoke.

“Ah, _Prince_ Jean,” he allowed sarcasm to attach to the title. “What he’s _Prince_ of is anyone’s guess. The fellow was stateless and penniless the last time I heard of him and I doubt he has bettered himself since. Undoubtedly he seeks a position and pension here, having worn out his welcome at every other court in Europe.” _There_ , he thought, _that sounds casual enough_. He was not entirely comfortable with the idea he might be manipulating her. _No_ , he thought _, I am only introducing a…difficult topic the best I can_.

“How did you know him? Had he previously applied for residency here?”

“He sought to marry my ward,” Melbourne responded. “But she was far too young and he had neither prospects nor family to recommend him.”

“Your _ward?_ ” Victoria slowed her pace. “I don’t understand. How did you come to have custody of a young woman?”

Slowing, Melbourne explained the situation as briefly as he could, illegitimate daughter of two noble families, placed in his mother-in-law’s care, Caro taking the girl after Lady Ponsonby’s death and raising her at Brocket Hall.

“What is this girl’s name? Where is she now?”

“Susan Churchill. And she is in Switzerland, married with a young family. She wed a respectable young man with my consent some time after we sent the prince packing.”

“Susan…” Victoria said the name slowly, turning it over in her mind. Melbourne watched her more anxiously than he let on, holding his breath lest she react poorly.

“How old is she, William?”

“Slightly older than you, ma’am. If we are announcing our marriage, perhaps you would like to join me in writing to her with the news?”

“Do you still have contact with her then?”

“We exchange letters occasionally,” he conceded. “And…I provide a small pension. Both to her and another old friend who lives in Geneva, the lady who took Susan under her wing when I sent her there.”

“A…” Victoria swallowed hard. “A former mistress?”

“Yes,” Melbourne answered more calmly than he felt. Victoria accepted his answer, nodding. Then, to his surprise, she smiled, albeit somewhat wryly.

“I think perhaps this is a conversation we need to continue later, when we are not in a corridor. For now…since you are acquainted with this Prince Jean, please attend the audience with me. We can see what he wants.”

Melbourne inhaled deeply, only aware of the tension he’d been holding when her words released it. The door to her office was ahead. He paused, then pulled her into an alcove.

“We can certainly discuss this at greater length later,” he said softly. “I’ve told you there are many things in my life I haven’t made you aware of. Please know that is only because I’ve lived a rather long time and when we are together I find I am the least interesting topic of discussion.” He held her arms and looked down at her. “But since I will be known as the Queen’s husband, her very inferior, unworthy husband, I suspect many of those things previously unworthy of mention are going to be discussed at great length by those who wish to discredit me. Emma has warned me that it will be…unpleasant for you to hear one thing after another.”

“Emma? You’ve discussed this with Emma?” Now Victoria’s voice did rise.

“You have a great supporter in Emma, my love. She…counsels me. Scolds, might be the more accurate term.”

“Well…” Victoria seemed to make up her mind about something. Melbourne watched her square her shoulders and straighten her already excellent posture. “I hope this isn’t your way of getting out of marrying me, or at least proclaiming it publicly. You are my husband and whatever secrets you have, we will decide together how to handle their unveiling. Only…pray tell me one thing. Is this Susan your daughter?”

“Daughter?” Melbourne’s voice cracked with the surprise. “No, she is not my daughter. That is one rumor no one ever floated.”

“Then…is she, or was she, your mistress?” Victoria didn’t miss his momentary stiffening, or the shadow that passed across his face.

“No, she is not and was not my mistress. But after Caroline died, that was one of the pieces of scuttlebutt bandied about. Thanks, I suspect, to Mrs. Norton’s extreme possessiveness of my attention...my affection, such as it was. I doubt we spent more than a few days here and there under the same roof after my wife died. But…you might hear those rumors. I swear they are not true.”

“I don’t like that you have had a girl my age under your protection, but I’m sure there are many other things I won’t like when I learn them. I love _you_ , Lord M, and as long as nothing touches us _now_ , we will ignore gossip and innuendo. I do, however, think we need to finally deal with your Mrs. Norton and rid ourselves of her.”

Victoria stepped away and turned to proceed, but not before she lifted his hand and pressed it to her lips. Melbourne looked at her, wondering where this splendid self-assurance came from, and bent to kiss her before following her to her office.

Victoria sat behind her broad desk and Melbourne took a position standing at her side. When the swarthy Prince Jean was shown in, he appeared momentarily taken aback seeing the Queen was not alone.

After exchanging banal pleasantries, Victoria inclined her head with a show of regal condescension and addressed him. “We agreed to see you out of courtesy to our uncle’s old physician, Dr. Stockmar, sir. Certainly it is more customary for a foreign national to go through the Foreign Office, rather than request an audience with the sovereign. Did your ambassador – exactly what is your nationality? You call yourself a prince – what country to you represent?”

Melbourne listened to her admiringly, the lightly veiled sarcasm and cool dismissiveness in her tone unmistakable.

Their visitor made some incoherent, heavily-accented reply. Victoria shrugged slightly and looked over her shoulder at Melbourne, who was idly fidgeting, spinning the great globe on its pedestal. Almost sleepily, he stopped it with a finger.

“Geneva. That’s right, Geneva. You were setting your sights on my ward Susan last I heard your name,” Melbourne’s genial tone lifted in mock recollection.

The prince darted a glance at Victoria. “I was not going to discuss such sensitive recollections in front of Her Majesty.”

“Oh, Her Majesty won’t find it at all sensitive. She understands how impressionable very young girls are, having been one herself…until quite recently.” He smirked gently, meeting Victoria’s gaze. She dimpled her grin in return before collecting herself and turning an impassive mien toward their visitor. “I doubt Susan would find it particularly sensitive either. Her letters are full of her children and husband and the very satisfying life she’s made for herself. I expect you also are the parent of a hopeful family?

“Sir, my heart given once, to the young lady you name. I have never married and never considered doing so after your cruel termination of my courtship. I, sir, am not fickle. I only give my heart once.” Prince Jean held himself with great dignity, a melancholy expression on his face.

Melbourne chuckled. “Or perhaps you found that no other guardian would entertain your suit either. Most parents, I think, would prefer someone with the ability to support a wife.”

The interview terminated rather abruptly thereafter. Victoria rang for an equerry and to her surprise Lord Cameron responded. If the Moldavian prince had formed the intention of prolonging their meeting, when he looked up at the rather rough-looking gentleman looming above him, such intent quickly dissipated. Victoria asked him to show their visitor out, and Melbourne warmly recommended a visit to the museums before he left England. “They are free, you know, so  you can wander at will enjoying the beautiful exhibits. London is a wonderful place for one with…constrained finances. Good day to you, sir.”

When they were alone Melbourne approached Victoria. “I would like to embrace you, ma’am, but I am not quite certain I know who you are. You strongly _resemble_ a beautiful young woman I knew well but...” To Victoria his teasing tone felt like a caress.

Victoria rose and wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her cheek against him. He held her in silence, dropping kisses on her hair, her forehead. Then…”would you like me to show you her recent letter? We can respond together. I think she would be quite flattered to know you’ve taken an interest. Although I warn you, I retain very little actual memory of her. Caro had a habit of filling the house with strays to make up her retinue. You’ll undoubtedly know her better than I after you exchange a letter or two.”

“And the other lady residing in Switzerland? Mrs. Brandon? Should we write her also?” Melbourne readily caught the sarcasm, and was rather relieved she opted for neither tears nor stony silence.

“If you wish, Mrs. Melbourne. As long as we are announcing our marriage, I’m sure she will be delighted to wish us well.”


	12. Chapter 12

They parted shortly after, Victoria to commence the various duties on her schedule and Melbourne, after a visit to the nursery, to make the short ride from Buckingham to Piccadilly. After deliberation, wherein he put himself in the other man’s place, he had decided to speak to Peel in town. Blindsiding him at the Palace might not be the best way to win his cooperation. First, though, he would call on Emily and Palmerston to let them know what was coming.

Lord Uxbridge and his wife were in town and visiting his sister when Melbourne arrived. They all visited pleasantly enough, exchanging news and gossiping, Anglesey asking after his son’s progress in the Household. Henry Temple joined them and Melbourne was able to put out only the most delicate feelers on the subject closest to his heart.

“What are they saying about the late Prince? I hear little; I’m afraid I am quite outside the confidence of most on that subject.”

“Nothing that would shock you, I’m sure. For reasons that make sense only to him, Disraeli and his Young Englanders seek to hold him up as the model of _modern_ , _relevant_ royalty. Forgetting of course that they and their ilk were the first to scream foul when the subject of a foreign prince marrying our Queen first came up. Now, because he was interested in social justice and steam engines, and most especially because he’s dead and can’t dispute it, he becomes the banner they wave.” Uxbridge shook his head, laughing gruffly.

“I doubt anything much pleases Disraeli except the sound of his own voice and the applause of the ladies,” Melbourne drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “What about the mainstream Conservatives? What is their mood? Does the Queen have their support?”

“She’s the only Queen we have,” Palmerston interjected. “As nobody wants the King of Hanover to tread these shores, she’s sovereign enough to satisfy.”

“Aye,” Uxbridge agreed. “Her Majesty would have to do something completely unthinkable to lose the support of those who want England to have a monarch.”

“What might that be, in your opinion, Henry?” Melbourne turned to him, eyes sharp with curiosity.

Uxbridge hesitated, rubbing a finger down the bridge of his nose, clearly deep in thought. “Make a foreign treaty on her own? Give Lower Canada to the Americans? Dissolve another Parliament by Royal Prerogative?”

“And what would they propose then? Not the King of Hanover, I think we all agree.”

“Eh, Melbourne, are you plotting treason? Odd sort of questions you’re asking.” Melbourne only shrugged and leaned back in his seat at ease.

“We all agree on the King of Hanover question, William. I think – if such a thing were being considered, if the Queen were turned out or abdicated, for whatever reason – that the only alternatives reasonable people could agree on are the Prince of Wales, under a Regency, and George Cambridge. He’s popular enough in his regiment and has no dark skeletons. I’m not sure how many would have the stomach to turn out the boy and deprive him of his birthright so I’d put my money on both. Prince William under a Regency headed by his cousin the Duke of Cambridge.” Palmerston spoke with peculiar authority, as if he’d given the matter previous thought. “The Queen, of course, would have to leave the country. I don’t think she’d be permitted access to either the Prince of Wales or the Princess Elizabeth. It would be intolerable to have our _former_ monarch in any European country, so I’d guess Canada or the American States would be the only possible destination. Couldn’t have her starving on the streets so I’m sure Parliament would give her some small stipend, dependent of course on her behavior.”

Palmerston inclined his head in a mock bow and spread his hands wide. “What? We are speculating, gentlemen. No one said anything’s going to _happen_ but if it does, someone should have thought the thing through.”

“It’s a ridiculous proposition. I say, Her Majesty is a cipher, a mere chit who seems to have little mind of her own and that, I fear, is at the root of general suspicion of everyone who seems likely to exert influence. If you ask me, this girl needs to show herself up to the job by carving out a character of her own. Not saying curse like a sailor and fire ministers out of hand but half the population thinks she’s a meek little miss without two thoughts of her own. She needs to assert herself, that’s it, and build a contingency who knows where she stands.” Uxbridge stopped for breath and looked from Palmerston to Melbourne. “It should have been up to you two, closest to her after her succession, to stiffen her spine and get her out in front of the people doing more than wave and catch flowers. If she’s going to rule this great nation, than dammit, she has to appear to be _doing it_. I fear that mother of hers kept her too much in the schoolroom and out of society but that’s no longer an excuse.” 

Talk ran to other things for a time and when Lady Palmerston announced luncheon, Melbourne rose and made his excuses. As he departed, Palmerston walked him out to the street.

“Uxbridge got a bit carried away in there, eh? Still, I can’t disagree with him. It would spare you a great deal of discomfort if she does appear to assert herself more. You and I know she knows her own mind and is not easily led, but appearances are everything and she’s too retiring, too quiet and reserved.” Palmerston clapped his wife’s brother on the shoulder. “You know I mean no offense, William, so don’t poker up.”

“None taken, Henry. We need all the friends we can muster. I am off to buttonhole Peel, if I can find him in town. I fear he won’t like what I have to say.”

“You’re going to - -?” Palmerston’s brows went up.

“Yes, Henry. I am going to tell him the Queen and I are married and she has formed the intent of making it public sooner rather than later. His one year of mourning won’t be observed. For personal reasons, it’s true, but also because it only plays into the hands of Disraeli and the reformers who wish to make a martyr of the late prince. The longer the people have nothing else to talk about, the more they will swallow that rubbish about the prince being de facto king and the hope of  a new generation.”

“Good luck to you. When will I know?”

“After I’ve talked to Peel, and the Queen has addressed the Privy Council on the matter. She’ll have some inclined to take her side, or mine I should say, since no one bears ill will for the Queen, and a few others who won’t care one way or the other. I can guess who will be hostile. As Uxbridge said in there, it will be her chance to show them she won’t be dictated to. And I suspect she will do just that.”

“Melbourne...I hope you know I will do what I can to support you. As a monarch she has a way to go…but I was, and remain, every bit as charmed by the girl as you were. If I hadn’t invested so many years waiting for your sister I might have made a go for her myself and beaten you to the royal bed.”

Melbourne smiled crookedly at his dashing brother-in-law. “Then I must be grateful to Emily for finally getting you to the altar. Good day, Henry.”

**

The Prime Minister was just climbing out of his carriage when Melbourne accosted him. Surprised but not unwilling, Peel beckoned him inside. Always ill at ease, Robert Peel sat, then stood again, then took his chair again, lowering his big frame down as his chair creaked.

“So what can I do for you, Lord Melbourne?” Peel began bluntly.

“The Queen and I have married. I know we agreed to wait but…we didn’t, and there it is. I am sorry for any trouble this makes for you, Peel.”

Peel rubbed his rough red hands over his face several times, finally dropping them to look directly at Melbourne.

“Why?”

Melbourne blinked, taken aback at the question. “I’m sorry – did you ask why?”

“Yes, why. Why was it so urgent that you marry now, despite how it will appear? Is she – is there – is she increasing?” The Prime Minister looked pained to have to ask such an indelicate question, and Melbourne suppressed his own annoyance, taking pity at the man’s discomfort. He remembered having to take part in far more delicate negotiations four years before, albeit with far more reason to have the subject pain him. Nonetheless, his goal was to make this as easy as possible for Peel, who in turn could smooth the path for them.

“No, she is not with child. While I can’t speak for Her Majesty, the sudden death of the Prince Consort reminded us all that nothing is guaranteed in life. Perhaps with her recent bereavement in mind, Her Majesty feels a sense of urgency to not take anything for granted. Especially the life expectancy of a bridegroom my age.” Melbourne’s lips twitched, wanting to smirk at his own self-deprecating wit, unwilling to incorrectly assume Peel shared a sense of humor.

“I hope I needn’t assure you, sir, that the Queen is not readily influenced by any man. She forms her opinion and rarely changes it. If you can get her to consider all sides of an issue, I will commend you. As it is, Her Majesty is no puppet in anyone’s hand.” He did smile then, fondly, thinking of his headstrong, tempestuous girl and the haughty, determined young woman she was becoming. _Indeed, she is not clay to be molded by any hand, and I would not want her to be. She is_ Gloriana _._

Peel looked harried, had the furrowed brow of a man who knew he faced an unpleasant task, but he met Melbourne’s eyes squarely and offered his hand.

“I guess there’s nothing to do on my part but congratulate you,” he said with a shade less than his usual stiffness. “I am not one of those who ever thought you used your influence for ill, or against my interests. Your new uncle-in-law the King of the Belgians writes to offer his advice often, and his man Stockmar likewise seeks to warn me against allowing you to maintain any correspondence whatsoever with the Queen now that she is a widow.”

“Stockmar!” Melbourne spat the name with derision.

“Watch out for those two. I know everyone views Cumberland as the enemy but he’s too much in the open with his animosity to pose a serious threat and once the heirs were born he lost interest in whom she was married to. I happen to know that an envoy of Metternich’s accompanied Stockmar on his visit to Cambridge House.”

“Yes,” Melbourne sighed. “I have heard rumors.”

“So…as long as you’re here, let’s talk marriage settlements. It will be much easier to resolve these issues man-to-man than for me to broach the subject with Her Majesty.” Peel’s eyes bulged and his foot began tapping nervously.

“Easy enough. I expect nothing.”

“Ridiculous, man. You must receive a settlement. I doubt the Commons will be willing to go as high as Leopold gets, but we can do as well by you as we did by the Coburg prince.”

“No, Peel. I most sincerely assure you that I want no income. I have my properties and…”

“And I can probably tell you to the shilling what income they bring. You must receive a settlement as Consort to the Queen. If for no other reason – and I don’t have to tell _you_ this – too much a show of independence will make the Members nervous. If you’re dependent on Parliament they feel as though they have some control over you. I don’t have to add, Her Majesty would view anything else as an insult to her. Have you discussed the matter with her?”

“I have not. In my view there was nothing to discuss.”

“Very well, then. As soon as Her Majesty informs the Privy Council I will go to the House and ask for £50,000, the same amount Prince Albert was receiving after the two royal births, the same amount King Leopold draws.”

“£50,000?” Melbourne broke out laughing, and it was such a warm, engaging laugh Peel allowed himself an unaccustomed smile.

“They won’t approve it, of course. I reckon they’ll counter at £10,000 or £20,000 and we’ll settle at £30,000 with the usual increases if there are children.” Peel looked up at Melbourne from under his bushy brows. “The Queen does not intend a Morganatic marriage, I take it?”

“No. And there would be significant issues of precedent if anyone suggested it. As you know, the concept of morganatic marriage has never clearly existed in any part of the United Kingdom, and historically the English crown descended through marriages with commoners as late as the 17th century. As for the Royal Marriages Act –“ Peel interrupted him abruptly.

“The Royal Marriages Act of 1772 makes it illegal for any royal to marry without the _Sovereign’s_ permission, which clearly outside the scope of this since she _is_ the sovereign. You don’t have to tell me; I am quite aware. What about precedent and title?”

“You had best discuss that with the Queen. As far as I am concerned, I will accept no title. I care only that nothing is suggested which slights her.”

“You give up your seat in the House of course. Even cross-bench, you can not continue.”

“I am aware, Peel. Despite all the complications, it really is…just a marriage, not a coup. I love her and I am honored to say she returns my affection.” Melbourne displayed his warmest, most winning smile, to which the awkward Peel was not immune. “Thank you for your support.”

Peel’s leg jiggled nervously and he cleared his throat several times. “I do not oppose you. I’m not sure whether that’s the same as support in this case. You realize such a speedy remarriage is only going to throw fuel in the fire for those who see conspiracies everywhere?” He did not wait for an answer, only shifted his bulk and fidgeted more. “Well. I will call on the Queen at 4. You will be there?”

Melbourne hesitated, looking at the other man pointedly. “Her Majesty wishes me to. Do you have any objections? If so, please tell me now and I will stay away of my own volition.”

“No, I suppose I do not. Melbourne, you were always fair and not particularly liberal even for a Whig. I see no reason why that should change now. I am aware I do not always communicate as clearly as Her Majesty would like me to, so I’m sure your presence will be welcome.”

“You will dine at the Palace, of course?” Peel’s expression was pained at the prospect, but he conceded to its inevitability. Melbourne took his leave, walking out with rather more of his usual insouciance than he’d felt going in.

He would call on Wellington and repeat the conversation he’d just had, with far less trepidation, and then return home to Victoria.

**

Victoria, at the far end of the Yellow Drawing Room, talking to the young Lord Munster and several of his sisters, nonetheless knew the moment Melbourne entered. She trusted her senses from long experience and turned, the smile already forming on her face. He had stopped to speak to several lingering members of the guild she had received that afternoon. She could saw him in profile and thrilled to the sight as she always had. Handsome, distinguished, his fine shape outlined beautifully in his well-tailored black coat, Victoria thought he was the most attractive man she had ever seen when she first met him, and nothing had changed her mind since. There was something more, some aura surrounding him that made Melbourne the center of attention in any gathering despite his air of languid distraction, the hint of a smile always at the corner of his beautiful mouth as though he found everything slightly humorous. Victoria realized she was neglecting her end of the conversation in which she was engaged and sighed deeply, collecting herself.

The 2nd Earl of Munster, recently ascended to the title after the unfortunate death of his father, was one of Victoria’s FitzClarence cousins. The first Earl, George, had served as her aide until his tragic suicide and Victoria had missed him sorely and taken an interest in his children. William was only a few years younger than her, and she found it pleasant to have family connections with no aspiration to her throne.

A delicious low tingle making its way up her spine told Victoria plainly when Lord M drew near. He dipped to one knee with inimical grace and kissed her hand. When he rose Victoria kept her hand in his longer than strictly necessary. She looked up at him, smiling with pride as he greeted her cousins. _Soon_ , she thought, he will be greeted properly, with the respect due my husband. Even as she had the thought, she admitted that it was her wish more than his, that he receive further deference. England was littered with his friends and relatives – he’d once said all Whigs were cousins, as much or more so than the royal houses of Europe – and he was quite content with the warmth and genuine liking with which he now received of his own accord. Victoria decided it was her relatives, with their snide airs and assumed superiority, that she most wanted to bend the knee to her wonderful Lord M. To see Uncle Leopold forced to fawn over him where once he’d sneered – now, _that_ would be a sight to behold.

At fifteen minutes to four Melbourne murmured a suggestion that they retreat to the Queen’s library to await the Prime Minister.

Once out of sight around a bend in the corridor Victoria leaned her slight weight into him and pushed him against the wall, giggling. “Kiss me properly, _husband,_ ” she whispered huskily. “I can’t bear being so close to you without feeling your hands on me.”

“Strumpet!” Melbourne smiled and complied, kissing her, taking care to avoid the Orders on the sash she wore.

“M…..did you ride? You smell like fresh air and springtime.” Victoria rubbed her nose against his waistcoat. Melbourne chuckled.

“I rode and most likely smell like dung and the city,” he replied. “But I will accept the compliment and not disagree with Your Majesty.” He deftly stepped away.

“Now, ma’am, shall we?” Victoria straightened and allowed her features to compose themselves in their usual remote expression. Melbourne, she noted, behind his courtier’s smooth expression – or perhaps it was a politician’s – had a delightful twinkle in his lovely green eyes. _On account of me_ , she thought.

“And did you miss me, Lord M? Did you think of me?”

“You, of course, ma’am. But I made haste back so I could kiss hands with another young lady. Have you been to the nursery today? Elizabeth is turning into a _child_. She smiles and waves her hands about when I pick her up. Soon she will say ‘ _Papa’_ and then I will be completely subjugated to her will.”

“You will spoil her. She lacks her brother’s sweet nature. She is quite demanding, so the nurses say, and extremely fussy when not the focus of everyone’s attention. Lehzen tries to enforce a schedule but Elizabeth is determined to be held continually.”

“Then I will spend more time in the nursery, so it is me doing the holding.” Melbourne’s face was so soft with love for his daughter Victoria felt the merest twinge of jealousy. “And the Baroness told me Liam was out _riding_. He has a pony here? I thought we were keeping his pony at Brocket Hall so he has something to look forward to on trips there.”

“Oh, the pony. It’s a poor thing, sadly mistreated before Billy found him and brought him here. It’s been fattening in the barracks for months, I understand, a pet of sorts until they decided to let Liam ride him. It’s quite safe, he’s very subdued.”

“Indeed. I will ask him to show me his pony. Does this animal have a name?” Melbourne looked down at Victoria with a small smile.

Victoria chuckled. “Yes, they named him Prince. But don’t expect a showpiece. He’s a scruffy little thing, even with all the currying Liam has been helping with.”

“You’ve seen him then, this Prince?”

“Oh yes, they insisted I come down and watch Liam ride in the ring.”

Inside her library Victoria went to her desk. “How did your conversation with Peel go? Was he angry?”

“Not at all. I was pleasantly surprised and I think you will be too. He’s insistent on bringing the issue of my income to the House as soon as you inform the Council. I told him I don’t expect anything.”

“William, of course you will receive an income. You are the husband of the Queen. Speaking of which…why did we continue to pay Uncle Leopold after Charlotte died?”

Melbourne explained the history of the issue as well as the sentiment – a pragmatic means of keeping some control over a newly minted King they had put on his throne. Victoria pondered it before asking “Does it still benefit England to pay him? After he’s interfered so egregiously, not only in my personal affairs but in other matters as well. I am not comfortable with how deeply enmeshed he is in the affairs of _my_ country. He has his own to run.”

“I don’t know that you could make the decision to terminate it, but you could certainly put the question to the House. Or…you could use it as an incentive to impose some restrictions on his activities.”

They discussed that alternative until Prime Minister Peel was announced.

Robert Peel strode in, looking slightly disheveled as he always did, with his bumbling big man’s lack of grace. He bowed over the Queen’s hand and stood before her as she took a seat behind the big desk. Melbourne marked in his own mind the differences Peel probably wasn’t aware of, between his own audiences and the innumerable times Melbourne had been in his place. He idly wondered whether the formality was calculated on Victoria’s part, stemming from some residual partiality for the Whigs, or whether her informality with him had been the exception. Melbourne knew Peel to be an honest, capable fellow and wished he could persuade Victoria to unbend a trifle.

Peel began his briefing, having only various military dispatches and some diplomatic matters to cover, as well as reports from the governors of Lower Canada and the Indian subcontinent. Still, did she intend to keep the man standing throughout, Melbourne wondered. He himself stood behind her, on her left, determined to follow Peel’s lead and speak only when and if his opinion was requested. He had no desire to supplant or overshadow the man, as much from sympathy for what most certainly would be a nearly untenable position – having a predecessor in the room when he had every reason to expect his sovereign to meet him alone – as from determination to stay on his good side.

“Please, Lord Melbourne, be seated.” Victoria said over her shoulder. “Sir Robert, you do not object to _my husband_ participating?”

Melbourne stepped forward and walked around the desk. “Please, Peel, have a seat. This audience might go longer than we anticipate.” He gestured toward one of the two straight back chairs and took the other one himself, sliding it equidistant between the two. Peel hesitated, beads of perspiration already forming on his forehead, and Melbourne scarcely avoided displaying a frown of impatience. He wanted to shake the fellow at his unreasonable display of subservience. Instead he just waited, head inclined, a small half-smile on his face, encouraging him. Only when Peel dropped heavily onto the chair and exhaled did Melbourne likewise lower himself to a chair.

The briefing was as painful to listen to as it evidently was to deliver. The man spoke ponderously, like the sort of university lecturer who put everyone to sleep, sounding for all the world as though he were in fact lecturing the Queen, instructing her. His delivery and the dry recitation of facts nearly did put Melbourne to sleep. He jerked awake several times, on the verge of dozing off, before Victoria’s clear voice interrupted Peel’s reading verbatim from General Gough’s dispatch to the Governor General of India. “Sir, if you leave the dispatches I will commit to reading them thoroughly. In the meantime, if you could highlight anything you feel deserves special discussion we might take up less of your time.” Melbourne wanted to wince at her cutting tone, while at the same time thinking he’d warned Peel long ago to summarize and above all, make it interesting.

Interrupted, Peel lost his focus and the interview threatened to deteriorate further until Melbourne felt he had to intervene out of mercy.

"If I may – Sir Robert – in your opinion, the Act pertaining to Austrian ships being allowed into Her Majesty’s ports is ready to be read when Parliament reconvenes?” Melbourne looked meaningfully at Peel, willing him to follow his lead and take up a matter which was both resolved and well within the Prime Minister’s ability to answer succinctly.

Some time later, when Peel had managed to struggle through the list of names proposed for knighthood in five days, Victoria closed and locked the lid on her second red box.

“Now, before we end this audience, Sir Robert…I wish to discuss my marriage. Lord Melbourne has made you aware of the particulars?” She paused only briefly before continuing. “I will address the Privy Council in three days time and inform them I have married Viscount Melbourne. You will bring a measure for the continuation of my late husband’s allowance, to be paid to Viscount Melbourne. Within the Court my Consort will take precedence over all other males of the Kingdom…” She paused, glancing at Melbourne only briefly. “…including the Prince of Wales.”

“Ma’am! A Viscount can not take precedence over a Prince of the Blood, and certainly not over the Heir to the Throne.”

“Sir Robert, my late husband did so and he was not even a citizen of this country until after our marriage. My Uncle Sussex will give way and if my Uncle Cumberland disputes, he is welcome to remain in Hanover. As for our s- as for the Prince of Wales, he is three years old and not yet out of the nursery.”

It devolved from there and Melbourne wanted no part of the discussion. _This_ , he thought, this was one more reason  he’d resisted marriage. Not having Victoria, or worse, seeing her married again to someone else, another foreign prince, was intolerable, and not marrying was not an option since they could not risk an out-of-wedlock child with no husband at hand to lend cover but all the artificiality and stiff, ridiculous protocol was nearly unbearable. His jaw tightened and he gazed off into the distance, refusing to take part in such undignified skirmishing over who enters a room first.

Victoria intuited his mood and ended the discussion, and the audience, abruptly by standing. “Sir Robert, I thank you for your time. I will go over the list of appointments you recommend. Please provide the Lord Chamberlain with any instructions you have for the investiture. Now…you will dine with us? Good. I will see you then.” Peel grabbed up his portfolio and almost ran from the room.

When they were alone Victoria turned to Melbourne. “Lord M, is something troubling you? Are you annoyed with me? Or with that insufferable man?” Her brows furrowed with concern. He sighed and threw up his hands.

“With you? Never. Only…must you be so hard on him? You have him trembling. I tell you, he’s not a bad fellow.”

“Oh, I _know_ that. But he’s the least charming man of any I must work with. I know he’s not _you_ , but could he at least have some small talk? And not jitter and perspire and…oh, I know how I must sound. And the precedence question _is_ silly, except it means you would never walk into a room at my side, I would have to be escorted by –“ She saw he was laughing softly and stopped, confused.

“You told me once you felt trapped here, like a strange bird in a gilded cage. Do you remember?” Victoria nodded. “Instead of freeing you, now I am trapped too.” He drew her to him and slid his lips along the sharp ridge of her collar bone, into the hollows. Victoria relaxed into his embrace, tilting her head to offer her neck, shivering at his kisses.

“William?” She pulled back to look into his eyes. “Will you become accustomed? Or will you be dreadfully unhappy with it all?” He sighed, but didn’t flinch at her scrutiny.

“As long as I have you, ma’am, I will contrive. But I warn you, I can not take it all very seriously. If I want to walk my wife into a room I will do so, no matter who is in my way. And I do not want a title, any title, especially not ‘Consort’, which sounds very much like ‘concubine.’” She saw the smile reach his eyes and relaxed further, pushing back into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist.

 


	13. Chapter 13

After the strain of their meeting with Peel – Melbourne sensed the strain was more his than hers – the next half hour was a brief blessed reprieve. Victoria and Melbourne walked companionably down the great corridor and turned into her private apartments. As soon as they were alone he loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his jacket, running both hands through his hair.

He opened the French doors and stepped out on the balcony, inhaling deeply the pleasant spring air with its scents of damp earth and budding trees. Without fully turning, he reached an arm back and drew Victoria to him. They stood that way in silence, hands joined, arms just touching and looked out over the rolling grounds of the Palace and the London skyline splayed out before them.

Very aware of the girl beside him, Melbourne’s mind roamed. Where would he be, if not here? A lonely almost-old man, thinking back over his glory days? A bitter man, remembering the turmoil of his early life? A pathetic man, received at a brothel with only barely disguised contempt, entertained for the coin in his pocket? Or, horrifying to contemplate, at the side of another woman, one equally as tempestuous as his Queen but not at all like her in any other way, a conniving, deceitful, spiteful harpy who considered extreme jealousy the highest form of flattery while spreading her own favors wherever it was most advantageous? Would he, could he, have ever contemplated marrying Caroline Norton, if he had lost Victoria forever? He almost shuddered at the thought, bile rising in his throat.

“What are you thinking, Lord M?” Victoria’s sweet clear voice pierced his reverie. He looked down at her, his eyes showing the depth of his emotion, lips curving in a smile.

“Of you, ma’am, and how fortunate I am to be here with you. Against all odds, here we are and the world hasn’t ended, London Bridge hasn’t come falling down, the Tower still stands and the Court of St. James will survive the monarch marrying her most loyal subject.”

Victoria leaned over the balcony rail, resting her elbows on the damp surface. “I have so much more to learn from you. I know I do not acquit myself well with Peel. And I know many who come to Court still sneer at me. Your Mrs. Norton is not the only one. I never learned how to talk to people, how to _be_ and I can’t tolerate being ridiculed or feeling at a disadvantage so I behave…poorly.” She turned to face him. “I want to be like _you_. Or if I aim too high with that ambition –“ Victoria’s impish grin wrung his heart as he listened to her closely. “ – like Emily. Easy, relaxed, so that I make others feel relaxed…oh, I don’t know what I mean…you’ve taught me so much already and I try to model myself on you but then someone makes me feel ill at ease so I stiffen up and…”

“And Queen it over them?” Melbourne’s smile was easy and warm and she met his with one of her own. “You are very young, ma’am, and with so much responsibility. It will come with time. You did not have an ideal upbringing for your role, you were hidden away at Kensington and never had the chance to practice social interaction. Might I say, no one sneers at you in _my_ presence, or in the presence of anyone who knows you? No one who is so privileged – Emily, Palmerston, Emma and those who serve you at Court, Wellington, there are many – would ever think to do so, or permit it in their hearing. And if I might correct Your Majesty, the lady of whom you speak is not and never has been _my_ anything.” He lifted her hand and examined it closely, kissing each knuckle. “But I think I might make things easier at your audiences with Peel and those others with whom you do not have a natural rapport. Peel is as ill at ease as you are and you bring out the worst in each other.”

“ _Please_ do, William. I think, if the protocol and the stiffness of Court is ridiculously overdone and unbearable for you, then you must be the one to change it. I only know what I know.”

“I have the advantage of you, ma’am. Not only have I been alive a great deal longer, but my mother raised me amidst what was England’s Renaissance. I was making conversation in Mother’s literary salons before I was out of short pants. And my mother – ah _,_ Victoria, how I wish my mother was alive so she could know you and love you! She was quite simply the most charming, fascinating woman in the world – everyone thought so, not only her children. Byron –“ he chuckled at the memory. “Found my mother far more interesting for far longer than he did my wife.” He led her inside and pulled her down beside him on the great State bed. Victoria listened rapt as he described his upbringing and the social ease which was the most essential asset of any Regency aristocrat. Melbourne enjoyed talking and in Victoria he had the most captivated, and captivating, of listeners.

“What would your mother think of me, William? Would she like me?” Melbourne looked at the adorable, kittenish girl curled against him, her small hand resting easily at his waist.

“My mother would be delighted to have a daughter-in-law like you. She would love you because I do, and because you are an intelligent young woman with a strong will to match her own and endless curiosity. She would take you under her wing, and bring you out into society where you would reign supreme because of who _you_ are, not because you wear a crown.”

“Is curiosity a good thing?” Victoria asked, sounding uncertain.

“The very best thing, ma’am. Without curiosity nothing is learned, no new experiences can delight, you find nothing much to interest you and ennui is the end result. I might pretend _ennui_ on occasion –“ his mouth curled with self-deprecating humor. “- but in truth I find the world endlessly interesting. If I know anything, it is that I will never know everything.”

“So you think your mother would approve of me?”

“Truth be told, Victoria, you would be the embodiment of all my mother’s hopes and ambitions for me. Not because – not _only_ because - her favorite son won the heart of a Queen, but because you make me very happy. The fact that her grandson will be King would not displease her either, but make no mistake, sweetheart, it is your love for me that would inspire her devotion.”

“You will tell Liam about her, William. And Elizabeth must know the grandmother for whom she was named.”

Victoria leaned back, pleased, his words warming her. In the dim light of her boudoir, hearing the footsteps of her maid drawing closer, she wished passionately that they could turn everyone away and have the rest of the day all to themselves. Listening to this wonderful man talk of his life, the humor and the pathos all filtered through that fascinating, utterly charming mind of his, was to Victoria the epitome of happiness and contentment. Sighing, she rose as the maid entered and dropped a curtsy, no longer surprised to find them together.

“Must I leave you now?” Melbourne swung his long legs to the floor and rose. As it did occasionally, the residual weakness on his left side sent its reminder and he reached out a hand, grasping the bedpost to steady himself.

“I must bathe and dress for dinner. I think you might have time for a nap. I fear this evening will be a long one. We have several East India Company officials dining with their wives, along with Baron Rawlinson. He is to receive the Order of the Bath. Mama has been showing them the State rooms and galleries this afternoon.”

“Rawlinson? The Orientalist so determined we must check Russian ambitions in South Asia? Ah yes, he seeks your support for increasing troops in Afghanistan and Syria. That will indeed be interesting, to see how far he presses his arguments with Peel and me at the table.” Melbourne kissed her cheek softly. “You may learn a great deal from him and I know you will be well able to separate facts from opinions. It will make interesting pillow talk later.” Victoria responded to the twinkle in his eyes with her most coquettish smile.

“Well, then, my Lord, I will be most pleased to welcome Sir Henry and learn more about his views on our presence in Asia. If it provides you with a reason to come to my bed this evening.”

**

Melbourne was well satisfied with how readily Victoria – always an avid pupil – followed his lead in conversing most naturally with the British East India Company officer. It helped, of course, that the man displayed precisely the right degree of enthusiasm and objectivity and liberally sprinkled his discourse with the sort of rich detail to which the Queen responded. Rawlinson described most colorfully the ruins of ancient Ninevah, his translations of inscriptions from Darius the Great, and painted a compelling word picture of the Persian court. He even showed some wit and responded appreciatively to Melbourne’s dry humor.

The Queen, at her most relaxed with Melbourne at her side, displayed to advantage, her natural reserve enlivened by some measure of the warmth and vivacity she showed in private. She even exerted herself to charm her Prime Minister, listening attentively to his conversation without impatience or censure, responding to his few attempts at levity with a friendly expression and occasionally bestowing a smile in his direction. Melbourne knew Peel to be an earnest, well-meaning and far from unintelligent man. He didn’t agree with all his notions, not even most, but he respected him as a man and a politician. That he was intensely shy, he covered with bluster and a gruff demeanor; he had no social polish and whatever charm had been used to win the hand of Mrs. Peel had left none in reserve. Nonetheless, he _was_ the Prime Minister and would be an influential leader in the Commons for many years and Melbourne most strenuously desired that he feel a genuine devotion to the Queen. Melbourne privately conceded the unpleasant reality that he would not always be at her side and he wanted desperately to leave Victoria surrounded by loyal subjects who adored her for the warm, wonderful, well-intentioned Queen and woman he knew her to be.

“So…shall we talk about cuneiform characters? Or the necessity of a _Forward Policy_ in Afghanistan as part of the Great Game?” Melbourne stepped into the Queen’s boudoir and leaned against the doorjamb in his dressing gown. Victoria’s maid bobbed a curtsy and hurriedly finished unpinning the her hair.

When the jewels had been fastened into their leather cases and the Queen’s gown hung away, Melbourne dismissed the girl and picked up a hair brush. Victoria loved having him brush her hair, he knew, and it gave him great pleasure to run the brush gently through her long chestnut waves while she relaxed under his ministrations.

“Do you believe the Russians capable of such perfidy as Sir Henry describes?” She asked. “When the Czar writes he is always so friendly and gracious.” Melbourne considered his response carefully.

“’Perfidy’? I don’t know that I’d call it that. Do I think they seek every advantage? Most definitely. As does every great nation. They desire a warm water port and probably a springboard into India and the East, but I suspect they view it as perfidy on our part to extend our reach into their backyard.”

“Does that mean you think we should not have troops in Afghanistan? We should retreat from Kandahar? Lord Palmerston and Sir Robert both think otherwise, most strongly, from opposite sides of the political divide. I sometimes think Lord Palmerston is quite the most expansionist, militant Liberal imaginable. Perhaps he should take a seat on the other side.”

Melbourne chuckled softly. “I did not express an opinion on the situation. I only remind you that there are generally at least two sides to every issue and it is wise to consider them both. I think Afghanistan will be a difficult country to occupy. Alexander tried and failed and I suspect a hundred, two hundred years from now that will not have changed. We might want to carefully consider the why before debating the how. You might be right about Palmerston. I haven’t agreed with everything he’s done, or wished to do. I suspect that someday he will be premier and then you will have your hands full reining him in.”

“You know him far better than I. That will be your job.”

“Palmerston is out of the House, for now…it will be a few more years before the Whigs have a majority again, and more years after that before he climbs to the top of the heap. I doubt I will be here to see it, so I am advising you now. Henry is a good fellow at heart but knows where he wants to go and how to get there. He will not always, I suspect, observe even the illusion of Crown authority when it comes to his foreign adventures.” Melbourne lay down the brush and leaned over her shoulder, sliding down the loose neckline of her fine lawn nightdress to bare her shoulders. “Lovely, my Queen.” He kissed her neck and shoulder, tracing over the smooth soft skin with a finger until her skin quivered in response.

“I don’t like when you talk like that, Lord M. When you allude to the possibility you may not be here.”

“Ah, but I must, sweetheart. You have to be prepared. You will lead the greatest country on earth into a future none of us can imagine and…” he allowed his hand to roam farther down, sliding over the slope of her breast. “…it is my duty to prepare you. I am, however, most definitely here tonight, Mrs. Melbourne. Will you come to bed with me?”

Victoria made love to him that night with deliberation and intensity, exploring every inch of him as though she were trying to memorize that beloved body, make him and herself forget the future he’d spoken of. Melbourne lay back contentedly, his head pillowed on his arms, and at her insistence did nothing as she pleasured him. In the dark, with only the two of them, all thoughts of anything outside their zone of delicious intimacy dissipated. There was only him, and her love of him, a love so enormous Victoria felt she couldn’t possibly contain it. “You are my world,” she whispered urgently. “You are my everything.”

**

Victoria had said she was determined to announce her marriage to the Cabinet before any of the upcoming ceremonial events – investitures, the Diplomatic Reception and the opening of Parliament in June – so that her husband could take his place at her side. Thus, Peel asked Lord Lyndhurst to convene the council on the 11th day of March 1844.

Melbourne had read over the statement Victoria prepared and was surprised at its brevity.

“Are you asking my opinion or my blessing, ma’am?” He allowed a small smile to quirk his lips.

“Both?” She responded hesitantly. “I wish to make it clear that this is a _fait accompli_ and I will not tolerate either disrespect or challenge.”

“Very well. May I suggest that you soften your tone? It is, after all, not a declaration of war. Do not suppose you will meet with hardened opposition. There are those who will support me and those who will grumble but none, I think, who will propose I be sent to the Tower.”

He suggested that she practice her delivery. “I find the only way to speak in a natural and unforced manner is to practice, practice, practice. That impression you wish to convey is the result of the very opposite of natural speaking. Advice which is easier to give than to take. I have never been considered a particularly gifted speaker. The more strongly I feel about a matter the more I tend to stutter and ramble.”

“You, Lord M?” Her tone was incredulous. “Never! Oh, how I wish I could have seen and heard you address the House!”

“I fear I would have disappointed you, and we can’t have that. Now…would you like to go over it once more? Will you need notes? I think perhaps it would be more effective if you spoke without them…”

Victoria stepped into the Council chamber and deliberately met the eyes of each man present, beginning with Peel and ending with Greville, the Secretary. When she began, she was pleased that her voice was clear and firm.

_“My Lords, I thank you for your presence on such short notice. I wish to inform you that I have entered into the state of holy matrimony with William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne. I have long known and admired Viscount Melbourne and this marriage is a continuation of our friendship and mutual devotion. Although it is a decision I have made for personal reasons, I believe that my Council and my subjects will realize the wisdom of marrying an Englishman who has served our nation selflessly rather than a foreign prince, when it is most properly the business of our elected government to determine foreign alliances and make treaties without the influence of matrimonial ties between nations._

_I ask your prayers for my husband and myself, and your blessings upon any issue of our marriage, who will enter the line of succession.”_

When she had finished, Victoria’s gaze moved around the room once more, stopping on each face, keeping her own expression both firm and cordial, as Melbourne had recommended. She heard his voice reminding her to look fully _present_ and not retreat behind the icy mask that was her armor.

The first to speak was a gruff Lord known for his bluntness. “Issue, ma’am? Do we then anticipate children to result from this marriage?” His colleagues sat in stony silence, embarassed at the indelicacy of the question but eager to hear the Queen’s response. Victoria raised her chin and met the Councillor’s gaze directly.

“That, sir, is known only to the Almighty. But I assure you we will do our part to earn that blessing.”

All eyes were on her once more. Victoria looked back at them calmly, waiting. Charles Greville was later to write in his own diary, “ _It is fair to say that every man present, no matter their prejudice, felt great envy for Viscount Melbourne and admiration for the Queen. We were all a little bit in love with Her Majesty that day_.”

Wellington was the first to rise. He walked forward with his stiff soldier’s gait and bowed over her hand. Then, exercising the prerogative of his stature, the old Iron Duke leaned forward to kiss her check.

“Melbourne’s as wise as he is fortunate, ma’am. Good for you!” He murmured close to her ear, but not softly enough to be completely inaudible, as was his intent, Victoria suspected.

“Thank you, Duke,” she whispered in reply.

Henry Pelham-Clinton, the Duke of Newcastle, was next to approach and offer his felicitations. Melbourne had not been certain, but suspected that the Duke’s own unhappy marriage would push him firmly one direction or the other. If he offered his support, so Lord Melbourne had said, it would be a testament to his generosity of character, in wanting to see someone else fortunate in their marriage.

In rapid succession, Peel, Lyndhurst and Sir James Graham, the Home Secretary, kissed her hand and wished her happy. Victoria accepted each man’s fealty, allowing a little of the warm gratitude she felt to show on her face.

Viscount Goderich was the last. Melbourne had been sure of him, and Victoria was pleased to see his confidence not misplaced. Frederick Robinson had been First Lord for only 144 days, the shortest tenure of any Prime Minister, but he was a good moderate whose political sensibilities mirrored Melbourne’s and although he had not served in Melbourne’s government they had found each other to be firm allies in moderation, surrounded by hyper partisan Tories and Whigs.

Victoria, unwilling to show hesitation, thanked them once more and withdrew. Melbourne was waiting in the Robing Room and she forced herself to approach him slowly, with dignity, rather than running into his arms as her heart urged.

“Well? How do you think it went?” Melbourne had been pacing impatiently, wanting to protect her, knowing he could not in this instance.

Victoria shrugged. “Precisely as you said, Lord M. We have the support of those you predicted, including Lord Newcastle, and no open discord from the others, at least not in my presence.”

“So now I am the husband of the Queen of England and Her Majesty’s government has been informed.” He smirked. “I think I will dine with Henry at Brooks this week. I can’t wait to hear what they’re saying.”

“Will you ride with me now? I want to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. I want to gallop and feel the wind in my face. I want to - - “ Victoria threw her arms wide and spun around, suddenly full of energy. “I want to get _out_ of here with you.” Melbourne thought once again what a splendid young creature she was, when freed of the constraints of her destiny, and he permitted himself to finally savor the words _my wife_. “With pleasure, Mrs. Melbourne.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

_Lady Emma Portman_

_The countryside was lush and verdant, or at least that which I took notice of as our carriage raced north. The farmers would have a good harvest if the weather continued through summer as beneficent as spring had shown itself. The journey I was on should by rights take three days but instead we were determined to make it in two._

_Beside me Emily had abandoned attempts to make conversation neither of us wanted so we each traveled in silence, lost in our own thoughts._

_The Court had been much occupied all of spring, the usual rounds of investitures, drawing rooms, the presentation of young ladies entering society who must first be received by the Queen, and of course the long delayed and much anticipated Diplomatic Ball._

_All the new ladies in waiting and maids of honor had finally assimilated so that there was again a semblance of peace and order. I still served far more duty rotations than the others, because William and Her Majesty needed a trusted friend in their inner circle, and I much preferred being at Court to being buried in the country with my husband, who since his retirement thought of nothing but agriculture. Nor did it displease me to wield influence and authority. Between Baroness Lehzen and myself, we kept the Household running smoothly._

_While I would always harbor a special warmth for my old friend William Lamb, Her little Majesty had earned my affection and loyalty as well. While I never find it especially pleasant to be in the company of two people desperately in love, my friendship with the both of them ameliorated most awkwardness. The heat in their eyes, the manner in which they seemed to think, feel, move in tandem without overt intention, well, all of that was just part of loving and serving our Queen Victoria and her husband, Viscount Melbourne._

_Most of the anticipated turbulence had been avoided altogether or was simply a flash in the pan. There were scandalized whispers of course, mostly among the good middle class burghers’ wives, the pamphleteers spread their filth - one particularly vile cartoon depicted William with his ram’s horns applying the whip to the bare flanks of a pair of young ewes, not very subtly branded with an S and a V - but overall we came through rather well. Among the nobility those most likely to complain were William’s peers and most of them knew him well enough to envy rather than condemn. How many of them, his own age, didn’t secretly or not so secretly lust for very young women of charm and undeniable fresh prettiness? And their wives found William so devastatingly attractive they were more content to yield the field to a Queen than if he had chosen one of their own._

_His first public appearance at the Queen’s side as her consort - lower case “c” for he scorned the title - was at an investiture where new Knights and Barons were made. She wore her cloth of gold robe, in actuality the lightest of her ceremonial garb, for we had an early spring, and William, having no military orders and demurring a sash, simply appeared in his Windsor jacket._

_He was adamant at first about declining a throne, telling the Queen he had stood at her side through many such ceremonies as her Prime Minister and would do so again as her husband. Foolish man! Vanity! I reminded him sharply that had been before the apoplectic stroke which left residual weakness in his arm and leg._

_Of course I should have known better than take such a tack. Lord knows I dislike reminders of age. And to be fair the image of Lord Melbourne standing tall and straight behind the Queen was so much a part of her reign, to not see him there would be a shock for us all._

_The Queen reminded him that the former Consort had chosen to seat himself beside her, not through infirmity but to establish his royal prerogative. William’s response? “There you have it, ma’am.”_

_Her little Majesty, our Vicky, hates being thwarted and she was especially infuriated by William’s sleepy, smiling nonchalance. She was quite puce in the face when she dismissed us but of course I lingered in the anteroom and she was not quiet. The upshot? Prime Minister Peel on one side, the Lord Chamberlain on the other and William standing to her left, far enough removed he might have been one of the spectators. Even so, he made sure he was easily in her line of sight, so she could draw confidence from him as she always had and he in turn could gaze upon her with that silly, smitten pride he assumed no one could see._

_I myself was positioned so I could watch him watching her. He cut such a remarkably fine figure in that gold-braided jacket and knee breeches, his thick head of hair curling against his face, that it was no wonder to me he had enthralled a foolish girl of eighteen. His other traits, his kindness and humor and that vein of whimsy were what held her. That, and I’m sure other talents of which I know nothing, save for what I’ve imagined many nights over the long years I’ve known him. No man who has always needed the company of women as he has could be anything but a superb, generous lover._

_She had to dine in state that night, the table lined with new barons and their provincial over-powdered wives. I’m sure none perceived the crackling tension between them, but I certainly did. At first it seemed as though the Queen was still angry - William did no more than give her that smooth, urbane smile when she was forced to look his way - but by the time we ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars, I began to suspect her mood had turned._

_When the gentlemen joined us and William took his seat at her side the Queen tried to maintain her remote facade but I saw, if no one else did, how she leaned toward him as though drawn by a magnet. I knew I would soon be the one tasked with ensuring our guests did not feel neglected and after a very short interlude she pleaded head ache. I followed her out only to receive any instructions she might have, and immediately regretted it for there they were, in the corridor, pages, sentries and servants in view. The Queen had her hands all over him and he...well, he is a man and responded as one would expect. I only shook my head and retreated, grateful for the Duchess of Kent’s predictable enthusiasm at taking over hostess duties for her flighty daughter._

_I came back to the present only when we halted for the horses to be changed, for us to avail ourselves of the facilities and be offered food and drink. Emily’s son was our escort and respected our wish to continue as long as possible before stopping for the night. I doubted our Queen would be nearly as comfortable as young Lord Cowper made us, but then she would not want to be._

_The Diplomats’ Reception and Ball. If William had a coming out as husband to our sovereign - he will not allow the term consort - it was that. The Ambassadors present their credentials and the Queen receives them, of course as has been prearranged by the Foreign Office, but that is only the official part. The Ball has always been the most glittering, festive, over-the-top event of the year._

_William refused to follow the custom of his predecessor and wear the regimental uniform of some branch of the military. It would have been a matter of arbitrarily assigning him some commission, which the Queen could easily do at her discretion, and then dressing accordingly, chest full of glittering Orders and unearned medals and ribbons. Instead he wore a simple black suit, formal tie and tails, the black velvet-trimmed brocade coat and breeches cut exquisitely to his shape, and outshone every peacock strutting about. The silver beginning to be more noticeable in his hair only accentuated his appeal, and I remember reflecting on the unfairness of that to women of our age._

_He did not go so far in his disregard of royal prerogative as to decline to escort the Queen into the ballroom, even though by doing so he usurped that of a dozen Dukes and several Princes of the Blood. When the Queen appeared on his arm, a glittering vision in silver, ablaze in diamonds, they made such a stunning couple it seemed unthinkable that anyone should separate them, and so they were announced and made their entrance. I must say, Her Majesty’s look of pride seemed directed to the man at her side rather than her own station, and that was fitting. There was only one William Lamb, most splendid of men._

_And how they danced that night! Nearly every waltz, and the orchestra played many waltzes. After William’s attack last summer, on that horrible day the Queen was injured by an assassin, he had confided in me that he feared he would be unable to dance again. His limp was nearly imperceptible except when weariness crept in, but I knew that leg dragged ever so slightly, enough he was concerned that it would impede him. There had been no chance to test it out afterward, what with the Prince’s death, so the night of the Diplomatic Ball was his first time taking the floor. They made such a beautiful couple, moving as one, our petite Victoria blissful in the arms of her tall, handsome husband. I congratulated him and he only smiled, looking a little satisfied with himself. He even asked me to dance, and I accepted with a feeling of pride. The Queen and I were the only women he led around the floor that night._

_The rest of that spring passed uneventfully, at least for the Household. On the world stage, great events continued to unfold but in the Palace there were only the mildest outbreaks to disrupt the domestic peace and harmony. Like any couple, they faced adjustments, but what love couldn’t smooth over, William’s tranquility and the Queen’s basic good sense did. It was readily apparent how much she had changed for the better as she matured to full adulthood. She was not as possessive as previously, when any time her Lord M was out of her sight she flew into a tizzy. I think the Queen was coming to trust his devotion to her, and I hope she was beginning to understand that all those qualities which made William so exceptional, fit for a Queen, were those traits which would be stifled to oblivion by a too-demanding spouse. For William to be himself, he needed social interaction, relevance in his own world and not only hers, and he thrived on the sophisticated conversation found in the clubs and salons. Of course, that of Mrs. Norton was no more frequented. Not only William avoided her, as he must, but from all reports many of her most faithful acolytes had defected, so that she was hard-pressed to find as many hands as were needed for a game of whist. Perhaps she would simply fade away, go to the Continent, to Ireland, to the devil. I fervently hoped so. It would be best for all of us if her name was never heard again._

_William had broached the subject of the prince’s salons, the evenings he had hosted accomplished individuals who might otherwise never enter the Palace. Poets, inventors, mathematicians and the like had provided what Prince Albert had found to be stimulating conversation and he advocated for the Crown taking greater interest in these quite exceptional commoners. Royal patronage brought these innovators to the attention of those with capital to invest, to the benefit of all. The Queen suggested William continue to host such evenings, and she could have found nothing more exactly suited to her husband’s unique brand of charm and the real interest he took in the world around him._

_Some of the Prince’s old companions remained, filling new roles which for the most part had been invented so as not to turn them out. I knew that, as did most of the real Household appointees, but they were for the most part unobjectionable young men with good ton and exquisite manners who were at least decorative additions to the Court. With a few exceptions, or one that I frequently noted._

_Baron Cameron was becoming ubiquitous once more, and without his brother at the late Prince’s side, I couldn’t understand his presence or what precisely he did. An Irish noble, which is to say no noble at all, a former cavalry officer, and now an English Baron holding one of the Queen’s discretionary titles, the man smelled of the stables, was nominally assigned to the Master of the Horse, and seemed to divide his time between seducing the young – and some not so young – women of the Queen’s Household and playing man-nurse to the little Prince. He seemed to avoid the Court proper, and especially the Queen, and never attended her drawing rooms or dined with the Household, with one exception. He dined en famille with the rest of the Queen’s household the evening they announced their marriage to all of us. To my surprise, he was there at William’s special invitation, and made himself scarce as soon as the meal was finished. I assumed he had quarters somewhere in the Palace but where, was anyone’s guess. He was impossible to miss, due to his imposing height, undeniable good looks and that head of overlong hair, trailing past his shoulders, so if the Queen did not notice him, it was because he did not want her to._

_That is why I was genuinely shocked when William proposed taking him along on his planned expedition to Melbourne Hall. That trip was the source of the second argument between them. The Hall was a considerable distance away, and he estimated he would be gone two weeks, traveling only with his brother Fred and Fred’s young wife to attend to long-overdue business. The Queen reasonably enough pointed out that he could not hope to travel completely incognito and must – by the very rules he himself had set down as Home Secretary and then Prime Minister – travel with a military escort. He was the husband of the Queen, and if that weren’t reason enough, in the past twelve months an assassin had wounded Her Majesty and the Prince Consort had been murdered. Had they asked me, I would have opined that the matter was so obvious it did not warrant discussion. One could not have a member of the Royal Family, the Queen’s own much-discussed and very new husband, galloping about the country staying at roadside inns, prey to any revolutionary or insane person with a gun._

_William dismissed the notion out of hand, quite unreasonably, I thought and the battle was on. Her Majesty went so far as to forbid it, which perhaps was not the wisest tactic with any man, much less one so many years her senior with no little experience in either debate or defending a position._

_They were on the outs for a long period, for them – at least one night went by when I happen to know her Majesty slept alone and he fell asleep in his chair. Servants talk._

_Somehow, the compromise was reached – unlikely as it sounded – to assign Billy Cameron to ride with William and take with him several officers of the Household Cavalry in plain clothing. Whether William or Victoria suggested it, I know not, but it was acceptable to both, eager as they were to put an end to the rancor between them. Cameron was, after all, both superfluous and a battle-hardened veteran, imposing enough in size and appearance to dissuade the most determined highwayman. And whether William truly wanted his company, I don’t doubt he was not unhappy to ensure the Queen did not have it in his absence._

_As the date of departure neared their billing and cooing would make any decent person ill. Her Majesty could not walk through a room without diverting to find some excuse to talk to him, to touch his hand, lay a palm on his chest, and late evenings spent sitting up in the Queen’s drawing room came to a halt. Her Majesty and His Lordship were not seen after dinner several nights running, to much giggling and shockingly indelicate whispers from the giddiest of the young ladies I supervised._

_The morning they rode out – Fred and William mounted, Fred’s young wife in a carriage with their luggage, and the ununiformed escort behind – the Queen looked forlorn, standing by herself watching them go. That was the last we saw of them until the night Cameron returned alone._

_I am not sure what awakened me that night. I sleep a distance from the Queen’s private apartment, and generally hear little except the ruckus made by those of the Household who think to slip out and meet lovers unnoticed. By the time I found slippers and wrapper and looked into the hallway, I could hear activity in the great lower chamber. The Royal Steward, clearly awakened himself, had been summoned and stood in front of a page who was gesticulating wildly. When I recognized the source of the strife I beckoned him up._

_He had a letter in hand, and swiftly told me we were not his first stop. He’d already been in town, to the Palmerston’s, to summon Emily, William’s sister. The letter he held was a quickly scrawled note, barely legible, summoning her to Melbourne Hall on the instant. He had another in his pocket, which he dug out and handed to me._

_William had suffered another attack of the apoplexy which had struck him down nine months earlier. Fred wrote, summoning his sister, with instructions she come to the Palace and inform the Queen and then travel with haste to attend their brother. I recall the ice water which seemed to flood my veins._

_“Come with me. I will wake the Queen. She must hear it from me. She would not forgive herself or any of us if she hears it first from anyone who – whose opinion of her dignity matters.”_

_Telling Her Majesty of William’s illness – waking that young girl from her sleep, pausing only so she could collect her wits, and then telling her the little I know – was not something I ever want to do again, and if it please the Almighty I will not have to._

_Surprisingly she did not go into hysterics. Her face blanched so white I feared she would swoon, her eyes overlarge, the pupils dilated, but she spoke in a cool clear voice to give her directions._

_“Please send someone to wake my maid. I will leave at once. I want to be on the road within the hour,” she’d said._

_The reasons a Queen could not travel by night, without extensive preparations, were so numerous and so obvious, I thought she’d lost her wits. As she swiftly walked through her apartment, barefoot and in a sheer white gown, hair flowing, I hurried behind her._

_“I said I will ride, Emma. You and Emily go by carriage. I will ride and make far better time. Wake the captain of my guard. I want to go incognito as William did. No ceremony. Have them saddle a horse and a spare, with one equerry to attend me. And please call my maid. I will need the habit I wear at Brocket – breeches and coat. The boys’ boots they found for me.”_

_She heard nothing I said, and would not stop, slowing in the upper corridor only long enough to be sure I heard and would carry out her litany of orders._

_Cameron was still at the head of the stairs, and so intent was she on looking over shoulder to dictate her wishes, she nearly ran into him. It gave me the opportunity to catch up and take hold of her arm._

_“Ma’am, you can not ride out alone. You must have an escort. I do not speak of propriety or protocol, I care only for your safety. For all the arguments you made William, you can not ride a hundred miles on horseback with only a handful of soldiers to escort you.”_

_“I can and I will, Emma,” she snapped at me. “You! You came from Melbourne Hall directly here? Then you can ride back with us. You know the way in the dark, you can handle the tolls and where to change horses?” I doubt she recognized the man she was addressing; at that moment I doubt she would have recognized her own mother._

_“Can you ride astride, ma’am? This is no trip for a lady’s side saddle.” His laconic delivery seemed to steady her; the man was unflappable, appearing as though nothing in this night’s work was out of the ordinary course of events._

_“I can. You will send orders to the stables?”_

_“Ma’am, you must take someone with you. You can not ride off with a cavalry troop alone,” I nearly shouted, hoping to make her see sense._

_“I care nothing for propriety, Emma. Leave me. Go do as I asked.”_

_“Ma’am, William would. Please. You know what I’m saying is true. Your reputation has always been his concern and you know what they would say. Those who seek to wound you – to wound him – would care nothing for facts. They would say this adventure is something Caro would have done. Please, ma’am, do not add that distress to whatever William is suffering.”_

_That did make her pause. “Where can I find a lady attendant who can keep up? Who can ride astride? Who can travel at a moment’s notice without needing - -“ She waved a hand dismissively. “It is impossible.”_

_“No, it’s not. I know of a – a lady, ma’am, who can ride like a man and is tougher than my brother and me put together. Our mother.” What Cameron said caused the Queen and I to exchange startled glances. Then she shrugged. “Very well. Send for her. And send for your brother. I do not know what sort of country doctors are attending my husband and your brother saved my life when I was wounded.”_

_While we waited for his mother and brother and Emily Palmerston to arrive, the Queen made the difficult decision to confide in her mother. Surprisingly the Duchess rose to the occasion, assuring her daughter that she would give out that the Queen was abed with a summer cold and see no visitors. If the time stretched on too long, she would say that the Queen had traveled to Brocket Hall to recuperate in private. Rumors would surely start that the Queen was with child, but that couldn't be helped and might be a distraction from the truth. She would also attend the little Prince and his sister in the nursery and even went so far as to assure the Queen that Baroness Lehzen had her full confidence._

_And so, less than an hour later our Queen, the size of a twelve year old boy in tight buckskin breeches and an overlarge wool coat, her hair bound up in a slouching newsboy’s cap, was swung up on a horse and set out under a new moon, dwarfed by the riders around her._


	15. Chapter 15

_William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne_

_I remember the pain. Then nothing, but that ‘nothing’ was an angry red-black vortex swirling down, down. When it finally spit me out is when what I think now must have been dreams began. Mother was there, not as she was at the end, crippled by rheumatism and age, but the vital woman she had been in my youth. Her presence reassured me, as mothers do, made me feel all would be well. I saw others, my brothers, my father- the real one, not Peniston Lamb. But Mother was angry in my dream, not reassuring, not welcoming. She did not want me there and pushed me away. I thought of Augustus and wondered, if this was death, why he did not appear. I thought of Augustus the dream child, the boy I saw in my heart and mind, not the way he was in life. No, this boy was clever, loving and had a sweet clear voice. And my daughter, the poor frail thing who only lived a day, but now she was healed, perfect and so beautiful, with a smile that made her tiny face light up. Then I remembered something which seemed important but it drifted away._

_When I awoke from my dream, or imagined I did, Mother was present again, this time welcoming, reassuring as I needed her to be so I could lean on her strength. I felt her cool hands gentle on my forehead, smoothing back my hair, and I pressed my face into her breast seeking comfort._

_I didn’t wake fully just then. Each time I tried the pain in my head became unbearable and I dove back under the surface into blessed unconsciousness, knowing I was safe because she was still there beside me, guarding my sleep._

_I don’t know how long I lingered like that between sleep and consciousness, between life and death, but once I felt those hands soothing me, felt that presence, it became more tolerable to fight through the pain and swim to the surface._

_The first time I knew I was awake and not dreaming or worse, I became aware of how desperately thirsty I was only when cool water was dripped into my mouth, rubbed across my parched lips. It was so good I am ashamed to admit I turned my head seeking a breast, reduced to an infant wanting to nurse. I didn’t open my eyes - that seemed far too complex an endeavor if I considered it at all - but I thought of my mother beside me, holding me, and that was enough._

_Then it was no longer enough. I wanted someone else, craved someone else as if my very life depended on it, but my disordered mind wouldn’t let me remember who. It seemed so important that I remember._

_It was night when I came to myself finally. The pain in my head, that all-consuming agony, had abated and although my thoughts came slowly, they did form in a logical, coherent fashion. I tested my limbs as best I could and everything seemed accounted for. Only then did I begin to panic. For how long had I been unconscious? What had happened and most importantly, had anyone told -_

_Victoria. I had spoken aloud without knowing it, or at any rate made some sound, because she stirred next to me and her eyes met mine._

_She had been resting on the very edge of the bed as though she feared jostling me, but even so had migrated closer seeking my warmth, lending me hers. My girl here, in my sickbed, so far from London. She reached out a small hand and stroked my face. It had been her hands soothing me then, tending me. I felt the burn of shame starting, that she had seen me so unmanned. It was my duty to care for her, not the other way around. She was..I remember how suddenly that memory came to me, how staggering it was. She was the Queen._

_That night I couldn’t form words yet. I could only - and now the recollection troubled me - try to turn away, to push her away irritably. Those great eyes saddened but she blinked back tears and only stroked my forehead. It felt too good to resist and so I let her, until sleep reclaimed me._

_When I woke once more, it was morning. I was alone, until my sister came in._

_“Where - was she really here? In the night?” My voice was hoarse and cracked painfully but my thoughts were once more fully lucid._

_“Your wife has been at your side since she arrived. I persuaded her to go downstairs and try to eat. She will only take coffee. She told us you had awakened and did not seem pleased to see her.”_

_Emily set down the tray she was carrying._

_“I must shave and bathe and dress, at once.” I found it to be a sensible enough statement but my sister laughed as though I were deranged._

_“We have a manservant to help you bathe and shave but you will do so from bed.” She arranged dishes and cutlery on a bedside table. “But first let me help you eat and drink and I will catch you up on the past few days”_

_She told me of my attack of cerebral apoplectic stroke, of Fred sending a courier to London who brought back the Queen. My wife, who rode two days and nights to reach me, dressed in boy’s clothing and in the company of what appeared to be Gypsy travelers at best, ruffians at worst, great mustachioed fellows with long streaming hair, chaperoned only by a female who - Emily rolled her eyes - “you have to see for yourself because I cannot possibly do her justice.”_

_“Who permitted such a thing?” I know I spoke angrily and without consideration, but was still annoyed when Em gave me the sort of pained, incredulous look only sisters can deliver._

_“She is the Queen, William. ‘Permit’ is not a word which applies here. Although I think if she were not a Queen she would still be very hard to resist. Your wives, William, seem to care little for convention or constraint. At least this one runs to you.”_

_“Help me make myself presentable, Em, I must see her.”_

_She came back when summoned, nearly running with no decorum whatsoever and stopped short before she reached the bed, shy in front Emily a little and perhaps unsure of her reception. The sovereign of our great nation stood before me in dingy well-worn buckskin breeches and a dirty shirt, all the dust of the road on it. Her tangled hair was escaping a thick braid and her face was sun-tanned as dark as an American Indian’s._

_I found the spectacle amusing and meant to say something witty but my voice betrayed me so I could only choke out her name, not from any effects of my stroke but only an excess of emotion. She threw herself into my arms and kissed my face, over and over, tears streaming down hers._

_Emily watched with a patronizing smile which didn’t disguise how affected she was. My sister loves me and it pleases her to see others share her affinity._

_When Victoria settled herself I raised my good arm in invitation and she put her head on my chest, molding her small shape to mine so closely I could feel her warmth all along my side. I heard her small grunt of satisfaction when my arm tightened around her shoulders._

_Emily offered her a hot bath and clean clothing, an offer which Victoria only pretended to receive with interest. She made it clear she had no immediate intention of leaving my side._

_“Thank you, Emily. Give us a half hour and then please have a bath drawn and clothing laid out for her. Victoria, you will then go with my sister and make yourself presentable.” As I knew she would, my wife nodded docilely enough, not raising her head._

_“You must encourage her to eat something and then sleep, William. She’s done neither in I don’t know how long, certainly not since she’s been here.”_

_But Her Majesty had already complied with one of her recommendations. She was asleep. I could feel her soft breath, and the limp heaviness of her weight in my arms. So I took my turn, watching over her as she slept. As it should be. At least I could still do that much for my young wife._

_It seemed then as though I had emerged intact from this latest episode - latest because it was not my first, nor would it be my last according to both the local physician and the young surgeon they brought with them from London. Leeches and regular bleeding were proposed by the local man, but I’d been previously told by my Harley Street practitioners that nasty, barbaric practice would do nothing at best, antagonize my condition at worst. Consume less red meat, avoid stress and exertion, limit or even worse, eliminate entirely strong spirits, wine, even champagne._

_While I held that sweet young body in my arms I recalled those disjointed dreams I’d had and for the first time - funny how the injured brain repairs itself in stages - the two beautiful children she’d given me, born of our love and undeniably mine although she’d been married to another. That, then, had been the healed, whole Augustus I’d seen. Not my first son, but Liam, William, named after me. Prince William Albert Augustus. I said his full name in my mind, hoping to anchor it securely in place. And the Princess Elizabeth. An image of my daughter came to me, the manner in which her smile seemed to light up her face, her little arms and legs waving about as though she could not contain her joy when I leaned over her cradle, picked her up and carried her about. My precious daughter, a perfect miniature of her mother but already with my curling hair._

_I made a list, almost frantically, of all the things I must be alive and strong for – to protect and support my Queen, make love to my wife, ride and walk and talk with my son and teach him so very much, about history and the future and the world we lived in, the world he was born to rule. To see my daughter walk and talk and run and sing, to tell her about her fascinating grandmother Elizabeth and her great predecessor Queen Elizabeth and her wonderful mother, the great Queen Victoria. To see her learn to read and write and dance at her first ball – no, I realized bitterly, that last ambition was too far-reaching. I had already seen sixty, I knew that day would never dawn for me. But still…time, precious time, the one thing I required above all, the only thing even the Queen in all her majesty and might could not grant me._

_And this beautiful young woman, so strong, so indomitable in many ways, loved me beyond all reason, far beyond my own poor ability to comprehend. How would my death affect her? Would she be strong enough to remember her destiny and rise above her grief? Would she be susceptible to some other man, who promised protection and a shoulder to cry on? To lean on for support? I did not begrudge her a chance to be happy again – how could I, when she was so precious to me? But I did fear for her, her inability to dissemble, her craving for a strong figure to guide her constantly at war with her independence and strong will. And her heart, so open and giving and true – would she be preyed upon by those who saw only the Queen, her wealth and her power? Another Conroy perhaps, seeking to mold and shape a future sovereign through the mother’s bed? Our history had been littered with those, and a bloody history it was. Boswell._

_To say I was bitter then would be a vast understatement. The blackest of depressions hung over me, not yet fully descended but looming like a thundercloud. I couldn’t regret loving her, or bedding or wedding her, because, even for her, especially for her, the denial of a love as strong as ours would distort the purest of hearts into something hard and unrecognizable. We’d seen that, however briefly, when she contrived her plan to marry an avowedly homosexual prince only to thwart those who wanted us separated. The lives – and deaths – of all of us would forever be marked by that desperate stratagem, the reign of a future King ever shadowed by the story of his true, extramarital, paternity. Illegitimacy in the eyes of the Church he would head, had his putative father ever disowned him publicly. That hadn’t happened of course, nor had the worst eventualities of that scheme ever come to pass, all to the credit of the very affable and understanding Prince Albert, content to conduct his own private affairs while playing his public role as husband and father. If only Albert had lived! The thought came strong and clear. I had never wished the boy ill, had quite grown to like him, but it was only now I knew how sorely we must all regret his death. If I could have left Victoria and the children in his hands, I would have known them protected. But a bloody drunken murderer had ended that hope._

_Then I simply would not die. Not yet. I would follow the physicians’ absurd prescriptions to the letter, I would resume the exercises to strengthen my damaged left side. I would scrupulously adhere to my own long-standing resolution to let nothing upset my peace of mind unduly. I would, I must, live and do so intact for my Queen._

_Voices outside the window left open to bring in summer breezes disturbed my meditations, and my Queen’s slumber. I heard the Irish lilt in a deep baritone outside my windows, and recalled for the first time both the presence of her chevalier and its reason. Remembered too what Emily had said about the Queen’s wild ride to Melbourne Hall._

_He – Billy, she called him, as though a childhood playmate and not a soldier and quite dangerously attractive young man – had come along as my protector and I suppose he’d served that role quite well. He’d also proved to be a genial, amusing and very easy companion on the journey and later, when my brother and I arrived at the Hall. Fred didn’t like any more than I did the man’s bold easy manner or the way in which he particularly attached himself to other men’s young wives, but we could not fault his conduct. He had a knack for making himself useful without being told, seeing what needed to be done and doing it without fanfare, and he’d not been a demanding houseguest, spending most of his time exploring my lands while Fred and I went through dusty account books indoors._

_The why of his presence, though, was my penance, my hidden shame, and I know Victoria had been surprised at how readily I proposed he accompany us and allowed her to think the idea was hers. She wanted me to take Household cavalry, a full phalanx to guard my person along the road, neither of us knowing I already carried my mortal enemy within my own head._

_After that morning at the stables I needed to expiate my own shame, though, and having this rough young man with me would serve that purpose  as well as relieve me of the knowledge that he would be back at the Palace with my wife and son while I was far away._

_He’d been walking beside Liam in a riding ring, so tall that absurd, that ridiculous little animal looked like a dog rather than the pony he was supposed to be. My tiny son sat proudly in a contrived saddle, holding the rains of an animal that was as unlike a royal mount as any could imagine. The thing had short stocky bowed legs, a sway back and pot belly and at three Liam’s legs hung properly down to below the animal’s body. It’s coat was part rough, with great shaggy patches, and part nearly bald, whether from old, cured mange or some other cause. It plodded along steadily enough, peering out with rheumy eyes from under an overlong forelock. So this then was Liam’s Prince. By the time I reached the ring I was suffused with an unaccountable anger, one which I made no effort to check._

_Cameron saw me and gave a mock salute before alerting his small rider. Liam looked up and with a wide sunny smile called to me to see him ride._

_I said something then, I disremember what – or perhaps I do not want to recall – but something cutting and sarcastic, disparaging the poor animal as unfitting to a Prince of the Blood and probably suggesting a more appropriate disposition for such a beast clearly at the end of his useful life._

_My remark had of course been directed to Cameron, whose presence beside my son so enraged me, and I briefly saw his look of surprise and even anger. But it was Liam’s face, that sweet sunny smiling face, that still haunted me, the fading of his smile, the hurt so clear I might as well have slapped him. Before the first tear fell in silence from those green eyes so like my own, I was already in the ring, praising his horse effusively, petting the animal, admiring his rider’s posture, babbling anything I could to take away the sting of my words. The moment passed unremarked, either then or later, but my shame did not. I had allowed my jealousy to wound my son, and I would make up for it._

_Thus I had invited Cameron to dine with the Household that evening, when we would announce our marriage to those assembled. I went out of my way to make cordial small talk with this man who now had the upper hand, even though he did not acknowledge it. And I took him with me to Melbourne Hall. So now I must be in his debt again._

_I had heard enough else from Emily to know that he’d ridden without stopping from Melbourne to London, and turned directly around to return with his Queen – a test of endurance even for a man as young and strong as he. I also knew that when Victoria’s strength finally failed, after riding hard an entire day and night with only the merest comfort breaks and change of horses, he’d taken her up before him and finished their journey with my wife riding pillion, held against his broad chest. That was an image I could do without, but since they were riding to me, so she could be at my side, how churlish would it be to protest? No, I owed this man much and however I would have liked to consign him, if not to the devil, then certainly to his crumbling paternal castle in Ireland, I would smile and thank him and not let him see how hard it was to bear._


	16. Chapter 16

Melbourne slept a great deal those first few days and always woke in the night with his wife beside him, awake and watching over him. He drew great comfort from her presence and the feel of her soft skin touching his, almost overcoming the chagrin he felt at his own weakness. As shy of him as she could still be, and as sensitive to his pride, Victoria seemed oblivious to his changed condition. Her gaze was still adoring, her face aglow with love.

He had doubted his ability to be a proper husband to her, suffused with fatigue and physical weakness, a doubt he would not articulate but prompted him to keep her at a slight distance. He had awakened very early one morning to the pleasantest, most welcome of sensations. She had taken him into her mouth and was demonstrating with tender attentiveness that at least that particular concern could be dismissed.

Victoria would not be budged from his side at night so in the morning during his ablutions, she would peck at whatever breakfast was set out and then retreat to the bed Emily assigned her - Caroline’s suite, still untouched from the time of her occupancy - and slept in her predecessor’s bed.

She had no baggage, nothing but the clothes she’d ridden in, and had watched Emily go through the closet, pulling out dresses for a housemaid to hem. Caro had been taller, but nearly as slender, and Victoria thought the soft natural shape and high waist of these thirty year old garments suited her short figure better than the wide stiff skirts now fashionable.

Victoria had expected it might feel strange and unpleasant to sleep in the other woman’s bed, dress in her clothing, even her chemises, but instead it felt soothing. As if she were being drawn ever closer into the life of her husband. Victoria felt no animosity handling the dead woman’s things. If a ghost was present she thought it was a benign presence as though their shared love for William made them spirit sisters.

Since William was forbidden by his physician to leave his chamber and try the stairs it became the gathering place of choice for the house.

When Lady Portman walked in followed by another female they were both momentarily puzzled. Victoria had had no opportunity to exchange words with the lady who had accompanied her, had barely taken notice of her, so it took a moment to realize who the person was accompanying Emma on a visit to William. Lady Portman, rarely at a loss and never one to mince words, looked to the Queen and Lord Melbourne with wide speaking eyes.

The female was perhaps a decade younger than either William or Emma, dressed in red brocade trimmed with some dark fur. Her extremely light blonde hair was teased into coiffure and decorated with a tall feather such as had been de rigueur in Queen Adelaide’s drawing rooms. Her fine sharp features were clearly those of a beautiful woman despite many fine lines and skin with a leathery texture.

Melbourne of course recognized the careful toilette of a Madame and carefully refrained from smiling in appreciation of the spectacle.

“Your Majesty, Lord Melbourne, may I present -“ Lady Portman’s voice sounded as though she were choking and Victoria looked at her curiously, rising from her seat beside Melbourne.

“Lady Cameron, Your Highnesses. Or Majesties or -“ the lady waved her hand dismissively, clearly considering the proper form of address to be of little importance.

Melbourne gave the lady his most charming smile. “A Majesty and a mere Lord, ma’am. Confusing to many. I’m afraid the fault is mine. I greatly dislike unearned titles, a funny prejudice I hold. Please, be seated. You must excuse my dishabille.”

Victoria stepped forward and clasped their visitor’s hands in her own. “Of course, Lord Cameron’s mother. Please forgive me! All my thoughts were for my husband and I did not remember to thank you for accompanying us that night.” Victoria smiled sweetly. “Emma, please send for refreshments.”

Lady Cameron responded by quickly squeezing and releasing the Queen’s hands in return. “Perfectly understandable. No need to thank me. It was quite an adventure and I’ve been longing for such a one. Not Your Lordship’s illness of course, but a wild ride such as I used to have before the children came along.”

“I didn’t think of it that way at the time, Lady Cameron, but perhaps I will come to remember it as such. Queens don’t have many opportunities for adventure.” Victoria sat back down beside Melbourne on the bed and gestured to the chairs positioned around the bed to accommodate visitors.

“I was about to take my leave, ma’am, but Lady Palmerston insisted I must pay my respects first. I’m afraid my son will be angry with me, because he warned me to lay low and stay out of sight.“

“‘But’ nothing, ma’am. You will tell him I compelled you to visit my brother on his sickbed. I would not deny William the opportunity to meet you so he can thank you himself.” Emily swept in leading a servant bearing lemonade and biscuits. She smiled saucily in Melbourne’s direction.

He exerted himself to charm because he found his visitor, particularly the fact of her presence in his bedroom alongside two Viscountesses and a Queen, entertaining. He admired her straightforward manner and lack of simpering affectation. Under his watchful eye, Emily pleased Melbourne by refraining from overt condescension and Emma unbent enough to direct several unobjectionable comments to the very colorful Lady Cameron.

When Victoria asked her direction so that she could send a card of invitation once back in London the woman immediately protested.

“Then you will dine with us privately. That can not be objectionable to you. My husband has already entertained you in his dressing gown, you are acquainted with Lady Palmerston and Lady Portman, and I will greet you as a friend.”

“Sir, ma’am, don’t you worry yourselves that I will speak of this trip to anyone. I know how to keep secrets and honor the confidences placed in me. I’ve kept many a gentleman’s secrets, and some ladies’ too.” Melbourne’s lips quirked in a small appreciative smile.

Lady Cameron rose to take her leave she sketched a vague bob intended to be a curtsy to the group at large.

“Will you need a carriage, ma’am? Do you...it is only proper we cover your travel costs. You must let -“ Victoria paused, suddenly aware she had never handled money and was not quite sure where one acquired it. Melbourne stepped in.

“You will let us ensure you travel back in more comfort than you arrived. Emily, please ask Fred to provide funds and make any arrangements with posting houses along the route. Do your sons escort you?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your son rather. We hope to have the services of your elder, Baron Cameron.”

All eyes were on him then, equally surprised for their own reasons.

“My wife will require his escort back to London in a few days’ time, along with Lady Portman.”

All three – the Queen, Emily and Emma – raised their voices at once in protest.

Melbourne smiled sweetly at all of them and nodded his dismissal as though he were the sovereign.

As soon as they were alone Victoria stomped her foot and glared. “I’m not leaving. I will not return without you.”

“Ma’am you have already been absent for days. The Queen can not simply disappear. Nor can she go gallivanting about the country. Peel and his ministers must be frantic.”

“They resent Crown interference. I am sure it is a relief to be free of it.”

"Nevertheless you will return to take your place."

“I will not leave you. Please do not make me.”

“You must go home, Victoria.”

“This is your home so it is mine. I am your wife.”

"You are not only a wife. You are a mother and the sovereign of a great nation. Remember your duty." Melbourne raised his voice sharply, shocking her. “Victoria! You will leave the day after tomorrow. Right now you will begin working on your speech to Parliament. Find the newspapers which come on the mail coach and read them so you know what is happening in your country.”

Victoria looked stunned. “But we always go over the newspapers together. You point out what I must read.”

“Today you must do it yourself.” Melbourne’s gaze flickered over her stricken face, the tears welling in her eyes, but his own stern expression did not soften. Victoria nodded her head in acquiescence and withdrew.

Melbourne knew he was correct in insisting she must return to Court and resume her duties. He even thought he was not altogether wrong in wanting her to at least try to review the newspapers independently, to begin outlining her own speech, although those were activities they’d shared since her first day as Queen. It hurt his heart to speak to her so sternly, to send her away unreconciled, but that he did for a far different reason. He had to know whether, angry and upset, she turned elsewhere for consolation.

He brooded in silence for longer than he was able to nap. The moment he awakened from restless sleep he swung his legs impatiently to the floor and attempted to stand. _There_ , he thought, _that’s not so bad_. His left leg felt numb and wooden, but it held his weight. When he tried to step forward though, the thing would not cooperate and he swore softly, willing it to obey him. He finally made it, gripping bedpost and bureau, to the window and looked down at the yard below, still in the late spring afternoon. He turned awkwardly, thinking to himself that his dancing days were certainly behind him, and staggered to an armchair. Then he picked up a book of poems and tried to read. When Emma Portman looked in on him he was grateful for the company.

“Where is the Queen, Emma?” She looked surprised at being asked.

“In the library, William, going over the papers. Your nephew Will is with her. I believe they are working on a draft of a speech.” 

"Did she complain of me?" 

"You, William? Never. Although...there was some sniffing and frequent resource to a handkerchief. She said a summer cold was coming on."

“And Cameron? Did he stay or leave with his mother?”

“He stayed. As you requested. William, why did you? I think it best that man spend less, not more, time about the Queen. He _moons_ after her, you know. Nothing improper but it’s quite obvious. And he has no _ton_ at all. He is clumsy and crude and…”

Melbourne’s lips tightened in a crooked smile. “I think you overstate the matter, Emma. I was of the impression that ladies find him quite attractive. Hardly clumsy and crude, as you say. Unaffected, perhaps, and no dandy certainly, but don't you find him handsome? Come, tell me truthfully," he coaxed teasingly.

“What _ever!_  " Emma snapped. "You will heed my advice, William, and send him packing. The Queen and I need no escort other than those few soldiers who rode with her, and your nephew is quite capable of arranging accommodations for us on the road.”

Melbourne studied his old friend closely. “Emma, tell me truthfully, do you suspect the Queen’s feelings? Her actions?”

Emma Portman did not rush to answer. She considered the matter. “No,” she finally answered candidly. “I do not. And I am a good judge of those things. She has eyes for no one but you, William Lamb. She never has had. Not once have I ever suspected her to harbor warm feelings for any man except you. I believe she is true. I think she might be one of those women who only love once.” Emma thought to herself, _I could have as easily said one of_ us _for I have never loved anyone but you either,_ but of course she did not.

“I believe you are right, Emma. Victoria does not think of loving anyone but me. However,” he sighed, and Emma thought it was resonant with melancholy. “I will not live forever. And if there is one thing I am certain of, other than Victoria’s heart, it is that young man – as rough and crude as he is – does not harbor one iota of worldly ambition and entertains no secret agenda. If he feels affection for my wife, it is for who and not what she is.”

Victoria reappeared sometime later, clutching a sheaf of papers and looking, Melbourne thought, both very unsure and very pretty in a light summer frock.

He told her so, stretching out his hand for her.

“Do you think so?” She smiled softly at his compliment. “Do you – do you know whose dress this is?” Melbourne saw her lovely eyes blink uncertainly.

“I assume so, ma’am. Unless you suspect me of having had more than one lady resident in my family home. Which, I admit, might have been a pleasant consolation at times. It is one of Caro’s.” Melbourne was touched by the way she flinched slightly hearing him speak his late wife’s name.

“Very pretty. The style suits you. Now, however, I am more interested in what is underneath than I am in the dress.” He drew her onto his lap, enjoying the pretty blush in her cheeks underneath the new golden tan.

They made love easily, in a languid manner suited to the sultry afternoon, and Melbourne did not remember to worry until long after his response was evident and quite satisfactory. He took her hips and showed her to straddle him, as they did when she was swollen with child, for he did not yet trust himself to support his own weight, and his fingers reminded her of the advantages of such a position.

Afterward he bade her dress, lest they be interrupted, and then bring him her notes. Victoria rose and slipped the light frock over her head, lifting her hair out of the neck hole and carelessly binding it with a piece of ribbon.

“You do that quite well without assistance, ma’am,” Melbourne teased.

“This morning I washed my hair too. I know it’s quite foolish that I never learned to care for myself. Everything was always done for me.”

“You would be shocked at the tasks some of your predecessors delegated to others. Do you know that one of the highest offices in earlier times was ‘Lord of the Stool’?”

Melbourne proceeded to explain the particulars of that honorific as Victoria listened, horrified.

Victoria read him the draft of her speech and he suggested minor edits, points to be emphasized, matters which might be best left unremarked upon.

“So...based on your perusal of the news, what do you predict might be on Peel’s agenda this term?”

“His banking reforms seem likely to pass.” Victoria said. “The Factory Law seems a sure thing as well. He previously wished to abolish imprisonment and transportation for debt, a measure strongly supported by Disraeli yet opposed by most Conservatives and many Whig Lords.”

“You see the common theme?” Melbourne questioned.

“Relief for the poor, of course, and the middle class.”

“Peel will be losing many of those who previously supported him, yet pick up few Liberals to make up for it. If he continues allowing his conscience to dictate policy I fear you will soon face another change in government. Tell me what you read which might concern foreign policy.”

“I read little of interest. It seems the papers are finding few international stories to cover.”

“Do you think that is because there is nothing to write about...or because our press is not being fed information?”

Victoria weighed his words. “But we have a free and independent press, William. How could they be told what to cover?”

“Oh, I’m not saying they are, necessarily. Or if they are, it would not be directly. But our intrepid British journalists are often prone to take the easiest route and that can mean regurgitating the ‘facts’ they are given rather than exerting effort to uncover their own. There is a popular belief that most people can only see as far as their own self-interest, whether a bill restricting child labor helps or hinders them, if banking reform will increase their fortune or decrease the rents they pay.”

“If that is true why would anyone ever be interested in, say, who the new Governor General of India is, or who the Russians have made a treaty with?”

“Perhaps they would be, if it was explained in the right way, conveyed in a manner which entertained as well as enlightened.”

“As you do, William.” Melbourne shrugged and smiled a little.

“Perhaps if it is what I do, that is because what interests me I am more inclined to want to share, and while dry facts have never held my attention I find the characters of those involved to be endlessly fascinating.”

His sister would not permit him to venture downstairs but instead directed dinner to be served in his apartment. The entire household convened there in makeshift fashion, Emily and her son, Emma, Fred and his wife and Victoria. Melbourne asked for Cameron to join them but was told he was nowhere to be found.

They passed a merry evening, jostling plates and cutlery, making a great display of pouring only lemonade for the invalid, and talking late into the evening. The three siblings described memories of their childhood and adolescence, Emma chiming in with those she had shared, while Victoria and Frederick’s young wife listened and laughed. When the group broke up Melbourne called out to his sister.

“Emily, tomorrow I will dine downstairs. Please make the occasion special. We celebrate my wife’s birthday and she leaves the next day.”

Victoria spent the night curled up next to her husband, a hand always resting on him as though to reassure herself of his presence, and reassure him of hers.


	17. Chapter 17

When Victoria ventured downstairs the next morning she was met by the most delightful fragrance filling the air. Looking for its source she saw every surface in the entryway and main salons holding containers of blooms, white and purple and pink. She didn’t recognize the flowers and had never seen such an abundance indoors.

“Lilacs, Your Majesty.” Victoria turned at the sound of Emily Temple’s voice. “If you do not recognize them. They are a country flower, found wild in hedges and on bushes, not considered fit for palaces. They take up a great deal of space so few cultivate them deliberately in gardens, when they only bloom a few days a year. But their fragrance is heavenly and to anyone with memories of rural life, it cannot be spring without them.”

“The fragrance is ravishing!” Victoria inhaled deeply. “We must have lilacs at Windsor!”

“Your gardeners might disagree, ma’am. A week from now the bushes will hold only sad brown remnants.”

“Like peonies then,” Victoria said, smiling. “Lehzen always said peonies bloomed just for me, because they reached their peak on my birthday.”

“Indeed they do, ma’am. Every single peony at Brocket Hall blooms only for your pleasure.” Victoria looked up to see Melbourne in the doorway, listing slightly to one side, leaning heavily on a cane but standing nonetheless, fully dressed and looking so handsome she thought her heart might burst.

“William’s peonies are truly magnificent, ma’am. If they grow for you, that must be why.” Emily gazed warmly at her young sister-in-law.

“Are all these wonderful lilacs from you, William?” Victoria twined her arm about his waist and subtly encouraged him to lean on her.

“I only wish I had thought of them. No, you have your cavalier to thank. Cameron and the troopers whose indolence he interrupted to harvest them.” Melbourne smiled down at her, but Victoria stiffened and frowned in return.

“I’m sure they are lovely and we have your grounds keepers to thank, but I wish you would not tease me, Lord M. He is not ‘my’ anything and not a cavalier unless that means unemployed former soldier with far too much time on his hands!” Victoria said crossly.

“William, you must be seated or I will demand you return to bed,” Emily fussed. “Go into the morning room. I will bring you and Victoria coffee.”

“Oh, please let me. I am so rarely able to serve my own husband. At the palace there are always servants about.”

Fred had a series of leaseholders and tradesmen calling and wanted his brother to sit in. Melbourne Hall was entailed and thus William’s, but it would be home to Fred and his wife. Emily joined her brothers. Victoria retreated to work on her speech until her thoughts grew fuzzy and she determined she needed exercise. _Pro forma_ , she invited Lady Portman to accompany her but seeing the flash of dismay when Emma contemplated the inevitable pebbles and mosquitoes and the effects of fresh air on delicate complexions, she set out alone.

The grounds surrounding Melbourne Hall showed some signs of recent attention but lacked the well-kept charm of Brocket Hall. Clearly here everything lacked the care and attention of a master in residence. Victoria was glad to have seen it but she didn’t feel the sense of home and place she had at Lord M’s primary residence. Everything felt more wild, less tamed.

She heard workmen ahead and hesitated, aware that the Queen’s presence was not to be advertised. Peering through a hedge she saw men stripped to the waist, perspiring in the sun as they worked on a section of split rail fencing. Intending to retreat, Victoria hesitated when she saw the broad shoulders and exceptionally long hair of the man William called her cavalier.

As she had only once before, she studied him unseen and wondered at the jealousy - for she could call it nothing else - he seemed to inspire in Lord M.

Victoria tried mightily to conjure up any trace of special affection, of...of the warm feelings, the aching need to touch and be touched, she had felt for Lord M long before she understood what it signified. Was she supposed to find Billy Cameron attractive in _that_ way? Was she expected to want to...kiss him and lay with him, even though she would never act on those feelings? Even alone, Victoria flushed, quite embarrassed at her thoughts. But no, whether it made her abnormal or not, the idea of kissing that big handsome face seemed only cringe-worthy. The prospect of being crushed under the weight of that big hard-muscled body was intimidating and lacked appeal, and a sudden image of how big he must be elsewhere if all was proportional made her shudder, remembering how perfectly and completely William filled her.

Victoria explored the notion of ever entertaining interest in other men. Removing Lord M from her mental equation was an impossibility, but still she considered all the other gentlemen she knew. Baron Beauvale – Frederick, William’s brother, nearly as handsome and charming as Lord M. Viscount Palmerston. Even the venerable Duke of Wellington, were he not well old enough to be her grandfather. The French ambassador. All sophisticated urbane men formed in the Regency period of Melbourne’s youth, all keenly intelligent and witty and socially adept, able to navigate her world with ease. If – and it was such a huge suspension of disbelief to even contemplate, but _if_ she were ever to imagine another man in Lord M’s place, it would be someone _like_ him, and she had never met a very _young_ gentleman, nearer her age, to compare with William Lamb.

But Billy Cameron or someone like _him_? All loud rough physicality and no polish, no clever smiling eyes which always seemed full of wonderful secret thoughts? Never, no matter how kind his heart, and Victoria hoped she valued Lord Cameron’s kindness and devotion as she should. But in William’s place? Never!

Smiling a little at her own foolishness, Victoria turned back to the house, walking swiftly toward home, for, she thought, wherever Lord M was, that was her home.

Emily had conjured a festive birthday celebration, and they toasted the Queen’s health. She received their wishes and the small token gifts – for none had anticipated spending the day so far removed from London – each gave her. Victoria smiled and thanked them and attempted a semblance of gaiety she did not feel, knowing that she must leave the next day.

Soon after dinner Victoria and Melbourne excused themselves, retreating to the upstairs. He climbed the stairs carefully, leaning on his nephew’s arm and with his brother following closely behind. While he was readied for bed in his own chamber Victoria accepted the loan of a dressing gown from her young sister-in-law and undressed quickly in her borrowed bedchamber. She did not want to wear Caroline’s clothing tonight, and covered herself only in the light silk wrapper.

William was sitting up in bed, reading from a book of poetry once more when she entered. He looked up his welcome and drew back the bedcovers for her.

“What are you reading?” She asked curiously, looking at the cover of the volume. “Lord Tennyson?”

“I find myself drawn to his words. May I read a passage to you?” Victoria laid her cheek on his shoulder and stroked his beautiful hand where it held the book. “Yes, please,” she whispered.

   

> _Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;_
> 
> _Death closes all: but something ere the end,_
> 
> _Some work of noble note, may yet be done,_
> 
> _Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods._
> 
> _The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:_
> 
> _The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep_
> 
> _Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,_
> 
> _'Tis not too late to seek a newer world._
> 
> _Push off, and sitting well in order smite_
> 
> _The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds_
> 
> _To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths_
> 
> _Of all the western stars, until I die._
> 
>  I _t may be that the gulfs will wash us down:_

> _It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,_
> 
> _And see the great Achilles, whom we knew._
> 
> _Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'_
> 
> _We are not now that strength which in old days_
> 
> _Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;_
> 
> _One equal temper of heroic hearts,_
> 
> _Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_
> 
> _To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield_ _._

 

Victoria found herself lost in the gentle waves of that rich, melodic sound. His rasping tone and the way his voice occasionally cracked was the most beautiful music in the world to her. When he’d finished, Melbourne closed the book on his lap and looked at her quietly. Victoria was incapable of speech; none was necessary. In the silence their eyes remained locked on each other in a gaze more intimate than physical connection.

He held her closely all night. They talked in low voices of the tasks awaiting her and the speed of his recovery to full strength, of the matters which would most demand her attention and the ministers she would need to placate. Their talk was interspersed with nonsense whispers and reassurances exchanged. Victoria ran her hands over the sharp planes of his face, stroking his eyelashes with her thumbs and smoothing the tender skin beside his eyes. She toyed with his curling hair, mussed against the pillow, and he twisted her hair into long plaits which he playfully wound around his neck. They did not make love that last night. Their intimacy felt too profound even for that and neither wished to disturb the fragile bubble of peace protecting them. But they kissed, long dream-like kisses in which they exchanged the very breath of life.

Very early the next morning, with a chill late spring rain falling, Victoria left him to return to London.

* * *

 


	18. Chapter 18

The Queen had resumed her duties without comment made or explanation given regarding her absence. She applied herself assiduously to the dispatches and the various reports which had piled up in her absence, giving each a cursory glance while making notes in her neat hand for later review. A summons was sent to Downing Street advising the Prime Minister when she would receive him. If, in the back of her mind, ran the constant refrain “What would Lord M do?” and “Would he be proud of how efficiently I am applying myself?” she nonetheless worked her way through a considerable stack of papers by working late into the evening, applying her own reasoning, bringing to bear her own understanding, well-formed as it had been by the best of teachers.

To Victoria’s surprise, her mother had stepped in and conducted herself above reproach. The Duchess of Kent was not a silly woman, she had a keen native intellect that had been allowed to wither over the many years she spent in self-imposed exile at Kensington, and being given responsibility suited her admirably. When Victoire found her daughter alone she stepped into the room with far more dignity and less cloying, overweening affection than she normally displayed, and gave a full accounting of her activities.

Victoire hosted the Ecclesiastical Commissioners and their wives. While the Commissioners met in Council at Buckingham House, Victoire showed their wives around the State rooms and galleries – always her particular task – and then entertained them in the Queen’s Blue Drawing Room with a harpist. She’d made conscientious notes beforehand on the guests and their special interests and family histories, so that she gave each the appearance of being a uniquely favored visitor, while avoiding discussion of the tenets of the Act they were promulgating.

She had acted in the Queen’s stead in receiving an address from a representative of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, presented by the Marquess of Bute, and this likewise had been conducted unobjectionably.

The Duchess of Kent had also received, and turned away unsatisfied, both Peel and Sir Robert Chester, the Master of Ceremonies, explaining when they were not satisfied at being turned away by lesser representatives, that her daughter the Queen was in fact recuperating from a heavy cold, confined at Brocket Hall away from the Court, her husband at her side. Peel went away grumbling but, Victoria knew, if there was one thing at which her mother especially excelled it was maintaining a visage so full of cold hauteur that few mortals, certainly not Peel, would have the courage to press her.

Victoria listened with surprise and great interest to her mother’s recitation, received her notes and realized with not a little remorse that perhaps their distant relationship could finally turn that corner William had been urging for so long.

“Thank you, Mama. You have done well. I can’t imagine how difficult things would have been if we didn’t have you to depend on.” Victoria lifted her mother’s folded hands and bowed her head over them. She rehearsed the words she wanted to say, words of reconciliation, but found it easier to kiss her mother’s gloved hands and lean forward to embrace her.

“How – how is your husband, Victoria?” The Duchess of Kent spoke stiffly but Victoria sensed more awkwardness than reserve in her manner.

“He will be well, Mama. Thank you for asking. He will stay at Melbourne Hall until the doctors say he is strong enough to travel, but he is improving daily. He misses the children so!”

“They miss him. Liam especially asks after his father every time anyone enters the nursery. Chambermaids, pages,  _everyone_  has heard that boy’s appeal.” Victoria smiled, and her mother joined her. “Your husband is an exceptional father, ma’am. As I think yours would have been, had he lived past your first year. He used to carry you about and show you off to everyone he met. As your –as Lord Melbourne does with Elizabeth. I think men always take a special pride in their daughters. And, your father was older than some. That makes a difference. Older gentlemen make much better fathers.”

Victoria appreciated her mother praising Lord M and she warmed further. Rising, she looped her arm through her mother’s. “Shall we go to the nursery together? I depend on you to re-introduce me to my children.”

 On the day she anticipated Robert Peel’s arrival, Victoria was surprised to hear she had another visitor. Viscount Palmerston strode in with his usual air of vigor and dipped a knee, kissing her hand.

“I did not expect you, Lord Palmerston,” Victoria said, walking around her desk. “It is nearly time for Robert Peel’s audience.”

“I know. I rely on our family connection to appear without an invitation. How is William doing?” He smiled down at her winningly so that Victoria couldn’t help but smile back.

“He is doing well, Lord Palmerston. Stronger every day. Emily is managing everything wonderfully. I did not like leaving him but I know he is in good hands.”

“My wife is a tigress when it comes to her brothers. They are an extraordinarily close family. May I?” He gestured at a chair. So then, Victoria observed, he intends to overstay and make the Prime Minister wait. She nodded and walked around her desk.

“I hoped to have a few words with you before Peel arrives. I will try to be brief. Are you familiar with Lord Howick’s views on the Colonial lands?”

Victoria recalled a few details and encouraged him to continue.

“In each colony the Governor holds a commission enabling him, in the name and on behalf of the sovereign, to convey the waste lands to the purchasers of them. Except by a grant under the public seal of the Colony issued in pursuance of such commission no private person can establish a valid title to such lands. It is not intended to disturb this ancient and convenient practice. Lord Howick’s strongly held views are in opposition to many of us in the Party and in this instance the ardor of even his most fervent supporters is waning. It is not a hill I care to die on politically. Howick for all his talent is entirely deficient in some qualities indispensable for a leader of a party. In this New Zeeland matter – “ Palmerston spoke most charmingly, Victoria thought, either sharing that particularly witty delivery which made listening to Lord M so irresistible or emulating it now because he thought she would be more readily persuaded.

“So when Peel brings up the matter, bear in mind that –“ Victoria remembered what Melbourne had mentioned several times about his brother-in-law’s determination to have his way politically. She also knew well and had taken to heart Lord M’s oft repeated admonition regarding the limits of her ability to intercede in government matters. Still, Palmerston was William’s friend, and Emily’s husband, so she used as much tact as she could muster in assuring him she would consider his views most seriously.

Peel did not look pleased to have his overdue audience with his sovereign delayed. When he was finally escorted in Victoria did not miss the looks the two men exchanged, although they greeted each other cordially enough.

“Sir Robert,” Victoria remembered to smile, and to invite him to sit. He in turn touched her hand only briefly and did not for once apply his unpleasantly moist lips to her skin.  _Progress_ , she thought. Their audience went over-long, as he went over his recommendations for bishops’ appointments in excruciating detail, but Victoria listened with few interruptions, asking her questions only at the end when he invited them.  _Still more progress. William will be pleased._

The Factory Act Peel had labored over and sponsored was coming for a vote on the 15th of June. Melbourne had told her it was the culmination of decades of passionate effort by Peel. He had first introduced the Health and Morals of Apprentices act in 1802, and thereafter provisions were added piecemeal. That was the crux of Melbourne’s disinterest in vigorously supporting the bills, both as Home Secretary and Prime Minister. He’d told Victoria he believed that if change were to be a necessary evil it should be done thoroughly and not by nibbling away at the edges. He also gently suggested that lurid reports on horrific conditions in the mines might be somewhat exaggerated, and that education was overrated. On that last point he had significant agreement. A newspaper remote from London had independently popularized Melbourne’s views almost verbatim, declaring that education was something individuals could do for themselves far better than the Government could do it for them. When Victoria attempted to praise the benefits of at least elementary education for all children, Melbourne only smiled sweetly and opined that those who were able, would find a way to educate themselves regardless of circumstance and those many more who lacked the native instinct to do so would be far better off spared the attempt. When the Queen protested he only invited her, as he did so often, to bring back compelling facts in support of her belief.

Victoria understood that his contrariness was as often the delight he took in shaping her aptitude for solid intellectual debate as it was a genuine attachment to those opinions he voiced. After so many delightful years under his tutelage she considered those Socratic discussions as much a part of their intimate bond as any physical connection.

Victoria inquired of her Prime Minister how he believed the vote on the Factories Act would go. Sir James Graham had crafted a final version to take to the House which maintained the protection of children, limiting their working hours, and extended it to women of every age. Peel told her he doubted the bill would pass cleanly, for despite his Party’s majority there were supporters and dissenters on both sides of the aisle. The Queen recalled something Melbourne had said.

“Sir Robert, do you foresee this causing you some loss of support from your own Party?”

Peel, losing much of his pained diffidence when engrossed in discussing those matters he knew best, shrugged and slapped his hands on his thighs for emphasis.

“That may be, ma’am, but I cannot let such considerations influence me in what I know to be right and just. The bill if it passes won’t be perfect but I believe as a society we must progress if we are to lead the world as a moral and civilized nation who protects all Your Majesty’s subjects.”

“We would not like to see a change in government quite yet, Sir Robert. You have our hopes and prayers for a successful outcome.”

Victoria called for refreshments, which appeared to shock her Prime Minister, but he accepted gratefully and as he sipped his tea asked about her health. Victoria only just remembered she was supposed to have been ill and replied accordingly, turning the conversation neatly onto the health and well-being of his wife and sons.

They discussed the planned unveiling of the Duke of Wellington’s statute, which the Queen would lead, and the incognito visit of the King of Saxony, Frederick Augustus. While not a State visit – the King was traveling privately, for pleasure and for his health – he would of course be entertained privately at the Palace and the Mayor of London had invited him to the statute’s unveiling. It was a knotty question of protocol, but Victoria was disinclined to make more of it than was intended, an opinion of which Peel heartily approved.

They parted on most cordial terms, and Victoria felt exceptionally pleased, looking forward to telling Lord M how well she had implemented his suggestions.

Days passed, and Victoria found her volume of work and exacting attention required mitigated the worst of her longing. She couldn’t help but worry about him, a low-grade concern buzzing in the back of her mind, but she forced herself to concentrate on her duties and keep meticulous notes in her journal to share with Lord M.

On June 18th, the anniversary of Waterloo, a ceremony was held to unveil a magnificent equestrian statute of the Duke of Wellington, commissioned a decade earlier. A large crowd of Londoners had assembled outside the Royal Exchange. Wellington and the Lord Mayor of London joined her beside the plinth as she spoke a few words in praise of the great hero of Waterloo and unveiled the statute. When she’d done her part Victoria stepped aside for the Lord Mayor to speak and positioned herself beside her old friend the Duke. As he always did, Wellington showed his approval of the Queen quite openly and Victoria basked in his reflected popularity.

“Not altogether bad, considering that fellow told me I had a square head.” Wellesley seemed pleased to have won a smile from the Queen. “Where’s that husband of yours, ma’am? Doesn’t care for the pomp? No, I think not. Melbourne was always more concerned about getting the work done than taking any credit for it. Under that silly show of unconcern lies a good head and a conscientious taskmaster.”

“In this case, Duke, the credit is all due you. A wonderful thing, to be so honored in your lifetime. And well deserved.”

“Prettily put, ma’am. Sounds much better than ‘he isn’t dead  _yet_?’ which I’ve heard in the streets.” Victoria realized he was funning and smiled up at him prettily under the brim of her bonnet.

The Queen was hosting a reception at the Palace to honor Wellington. In addition to those notables present, including King Frederick, the Lord Mayor and of course Wellington,  several dozen others had been added so that a good-sized crowd assembled in the State reception room. It was a warm sunny afternoon and Victoria had ordered the French doors be flung open so that guests could easily move from indoor to outdoor space. She and Lady Magnay had been listening to Frederick Augustus, a most charming gentleman, describe his interest in collecting the fossilized remains of strange creatures, when the King paused mid-sentence, a smile spreading across his face.

“Your Prince joins us, ma’am?  What a beautiful child!”

Victoria looked to the other end of the chamber and her heart lurched. Lord M had entered unheralded, holding his small son’s hand. Their progress was slow as Melbourne was hailed by everyone he passed. It was undeniably him, handsome, distinguished, elegant in buff trousers and a blue summer coat.Victoria wanted with all her heart to run to him, but stayed in place. Every lady in the room watched with her, and if the vision of him tenderly walking with a child who was a portrait miniature of himself – the boy was so like him in appearance it was absurd to think the polite fiction of his paternity would be given anything but lip service – made those ladies especially inclined to favor him with warm smiles, it was William himself who stirred their hearts. Victoria smiled along with the others, thinking  _all mine, Lord M, and I adore you!_

While they had made their way across the broad polished marble floor Victoria’s gaze never left Melbourne. As though he was aware, he raised his own eyes to meet hers when they had nearly reached her. Distantly Victoria was an aware of her inner voice, reminding her to guard her expression, to maintain decorum, but it was beyond her ability to conceal the emotion flooding through her. Melbourne bowed and kissed her hand, gently guiding his son to do likewise, two curly heads together

Victoria presented her husband to the Saxon King and the Lord Mayor’s wife to her husband. He acknowledged her with a courtly  bow and greeted the others, including his own niece Fanny, before turning back to her. She wanted nothing more than to abruptly end the reception and take him away so they could be alone but instead she bade him be seated and basked in his presence as he so easily conversed with those around him. They would be alone soon enough, she thought, and now that he was at her side it was rather pleasant to subtly flirt and exchange small secret smiles.

Watching closely, Victoria had detected a slight increase to his limp, and the barest tendency to lean toward his left. He clutched the head of a walking stick, but it could as readily have been a fashionable accessory. His color was good, his back straight and if there was more gray in that wonderful head of hair it only accentuated his fine features. He had not knelt before her as he did formerly, but as her husband, he was not expected to do so. Victoria felt something inside her solar plexus suddenly release a grip that had heretofore been painfully tight and so constant a companion in the past weeks she had scarcely even noticed. Now, seeing her husband, her beautiful Lord M, she felt as though the tightest of stays had been loosened and she could breath deeply once more.  _I will not lose him_ , she thought.  _Not yet._


	19. Chapter 19

Melbourne remained standing, leaning heavily on his cane, until the Queen’s carriage was out of sight. The weather was pleasant enough even with rain falling, the smell of new growth filling the air, and he felt no urgency to go inside.

Turning required both effort and deliberation. He was unsure of his balance and that damned obstinate left leg refused to perform the movement required to pivot so instead he clumsily made a wide circle and lurched toward the door. His sister ducked under his arm and took his weight, walking with him to a sofa in the library.

“I’m glad Her Majesty didn’t see that,” he muttered, disgusted at his own performance. “And she so loves to dance. I think we must find her a new dancing partner.”

“Your wife likes to dance with you, William. I doubt she will accept a new partner.”

“I suppose.” He sighed heavily. “And yet…Emily, she is now twenty five. Do you remember when you were twenty five? I remember clearly when I was. And hovering over an elderly, disabled gentleman was not how I chose to spend my youth. Was it yours?”

“Your wife understands basic mathematics. She is aware of the age difference between you. You consistently underrate her and yourself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt she will stand by me. Victoria will not stray. She loves me, and that is both my blessing and curse.”

“Stop, just stop,” his sister groaned. “This self-pity does not become you. You have what other men dream of at your age, a young wife who adores you. Do you think I haven’t seen Palmerston looking? Hmmph! Yes, of course he loves me and we are well suited but he still imagines what it must be like to be you on occasion. He’s only a man, after all.” She left him, huffing her impatience.

When she looked in on him later Emily found her brother still staring moodily ahead.

“Now stop playacting your drama. Send that fellow to Birmingham please. I have a list.”

_That fellow_ was of course Cameron, who had as quickly attached himself to Lady Palmerston as he did every other female who succumbed to his lazy indolent appeal. He had a way of looking at one as though he saw through every article of clothing, and liked what he saw underneath, her young sister-in-law had confided, and Emily quite agreed. But he was also completely devoid of pretension and accepted tasks and small commissions as though he were a page boy of fourteen rather than a man of nearly thirty, a Colonel of Lord Auckland’s army who had seen hard fighting in Afghanistan.

Melbourne’s plan to send him back as the head of the Queen’s escort had been for naught. When the time came to depart no one could find him. It was decided the party would leave with four outriders and Will Cowper escorting the Queen and Lady Portman. Now he stood sheepishly in front of Melbourne and Lady Palmerston, his long hair in disarray, his shirt untucked, complaining of a mighty hangover.

“So I guess I am at your service, Lady Palmerston, Lord Melbourne. Unless you’re determined to be rid of me. In that case I reckon I’ll find myself a lodging in town until this head of mine clears.”

Melbourne looked up at him shrewdly. The fellow played devil-may-care lout to perfection but Melbourne had never found him to be irresponsible in service to the Queen. Cameron’s presence was ubiquitous and as often as he might have wished the man elsewhere, he couldn’t remember a time he was absent when some need of him arose. _Where_ , in the vicinity of Melbourne Hall, was there a place to carouse? Derby? Nottingham? He mentally filed his questions away and waved a hand dismissively. “If you feel up to it, by all means execute my sister’s errands. If not send one of the other fellows.”

“Well, sir, that’s the thing, there are none, save your house servants and those farmhands clearing brush. The Household guards went back with the Queen. Safety in numbers. Not one of those fools I’d trust to lead the pack and none of them have seen a day’s battle. I’m sure Her Majesty expects you to have an escort when you travel so…” he spread his hands out as though to say, _here you have it_. “…that leaves me. Sir.”

Melbourne still napped several times a day, falling asleep in the presence of his siblings or alone in the library, book slid facedown on his chest. But he refused to return to his bedchamber while it was daylight, just as he refused to lay abed in the morning or appear unshaven and in his dressing gown. He was determined to cling to every bit of normalcy he could muster.

Fred began walking with him about the property, pointing out various improvements needed, and while Melbourne found himself prone to stumble when his foot caught on uneven ground his big self-appointed bodyguard seemed to be always on hand to steady him and then drop back again, effacing himself the best he could.

On his trip to Birmingham Carmeron brought back, in addition to Emily’s purchases, the most absurd walking stick Melbourne had ever seen, a long twisted thing made of some black wood, every inch carved with bizarre shapes, gargoyles and snakes and what he supposed were Egyptian symbols, capped by a large smoky glass orb. “Merlin’s staff,” Cameron had laughed. “That’s what the Gypsy fellow selling it called it. One of a kind he said, which probably means one in his hand and a dozen more in his wagon but there you have it. Thought you could use it getting around the property. Or knocking someone on the head.”

Melbourne discovered the hideous thing was ideally proportioned to hold his weight and correct the list in his gait so with much laughter from all of them he began using it on his outdoor excursions. The property was both far larger and far less domesticated than that surrounding Brocket Hall and on some of their explorations they were out half a day or more, hiking in the early summer heat through pleasantly overgrown wooded lands and open fields.

At first Melbourne’s full attention was on his balance; as that improved incrementally it was on his endurance, for he still weakened easily, but his companions easily built rest stops into the pace they set and he found his tolerance increasing.

Much undergrowth had been cleared and old fencing razed so in the long early summer evenings they had plenty of fuel for big bonfires. Emily would go indoors far sooner than the gentlemen, leaving them to pass around spirits and listen to Cameron’s talk of jumping fire with some Basque troops he’d stumbled across in Catalonia during the height of the first Carlist war, his adventures with the Indian Imperial Army and its Afghan Expeditionary Force, the strange sights he’d seen and, his favorite topic, the women he’d had, swarthy, agile camp followers quite willing to cook, do laundry and teach their exotic sexual arts to good Irish boys for a coin or two. He made his decade in the armies of the east like a grand lark, no different than what any Lord’s son on school holiday enjoy. Of course Melbourne and his brother knew differently, but it was the first time either of them – politician and diplomat – had heard first hand recollections from a man who’d seen Auckland’s folly firsthand.

On those days Melbourne almost forgot to think of Victoria until he made his way to his bed. Laying in the dark, exhausted from the day, he ached to hold her, talk to her, listen to her sweet voice and make love to her. He craved her too much to remember to mourn the length of time they might left, except to grow increasingly impatient to be back at her side. He could think of nothing but holding her again, of talking to her and watching her as she listened to him, the manner in which she was perfectly enthralled by the most commonplace memories he shared, that look in her eyes and in her sweet upturned face. Country life was pleasant enough and he could not find it in his heart to regret having this last time at Melbourne Hall with his siblings – _last_ , not because of his own mortality but because his liberty was curtailed by his marriage to the Sovereign and it was childish of him to resist accepting that fact. He could of course travel without her once again but he would not, could not, leave her for as long as another trip to Melbourne Hall would entail. It was time he returned home. Melbourne informed Emily that they would be leaving for London, with or without the doctors’ approval.

**

Emily was willing enough to return to London, her too-prone-to-stray husband, her social life and the care and control of her prematurely widowed son. Fred’s wife Alix seemed eager to have her husband and her new home to herself. They would make part of the trip by rail, journeying from Birmingham to near Windsor Town in an unbelievably six hours. Emily complained about the smoke and the smell and the ill effects of the jolting pace on her invalid brother while Melbourne only celebrated the near-miraculous speed as bringing him home that much sooner.

He was informed that Her Majesty was at an engagement in town and he briefly entertained the thought of surprising her there. Instead he opted to await her return, and after refreshing himself went to the nursery and spent a blissful hour with the children.

When Melbourne walked into the great reception room with his son in hand instinct told Melbourne exactly where to look to meet her eyes. The way they widened with surprised delight, the way her entire face was set aglow when she saw him, was the best medicine of all, was in fact the very stuff of life itself. Little Prince William’s hand in his, walking by his side, emulating his every action, filled his heart with pride, and he found it immeasurably rewarding to stand at the child’s side as people turned to greet him. But it was the final moments as he approached the Queen, bowed over hand and allowed his lips to just brush her soft fingers that something clicked into place, a rightness that had been missing when distance separated them. This, then, was _coming home_.

They had no time to themselves the day of his return. There was the reception and later a dinner, followed by an entertainment arranged for the visiting Saxon King. He had arrived with only his physician, traveling incognito, and of course Victoria had to permit him to escort her into dinner and open the dancing. Melbourne was content to take his niece on his arm, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and observe Victoria at a slight remove.

She waltzed with Frederick Augustus at the very beginning of the evening, and declined all other offers, and Melbourne only tried half-heartedly to encourage her. He accepted his waltzing days were now firmly behind him, and wanted her to take part in an activity she enjoyed, but… _not tonight_ , he thought. Tonight he would be selfish.

They did not retire until past one. Melbourne went up before her, and was waiting, lounging on her great bed in his dressing gown when she swept in with her dresser. The woman had no blushes at seeing Lord Melbourne in the Queen’s bedchamber. In fact she’d had done for long before they were wed, and Melbourne made sure to reward her liberally on every occasion, knowing well how loyalty must be rewarded lest these most intimate of servants succumb to the bribes distributed so liberally by so many.

Victoria allowed Skerrett to remove her tiara and unpin the light train which descended from the shoulders of her gown, but then could wait no longer and darted to her husband’s side. He could not rise quickly enough and so she tumbled into his arms, heedless of her dignity. Melbourne allowed her embrace before smacking her derriere sharply and commanding her to permit her maid to continue. Melbourne quite enjoyed watching her toilette, savoring each detail as his anticipation built. Jewels were carefully laid in their velvet-lined cases. The Queen’s stiff gown and whalebone petticoats were removed and, under the cover of a dressing gown, her stays loosened and taken away. She sat as the maid’s nimble fingers removed pins from her coiffure and spread it out over her shoulders, brushing the chestnut waves smooth. When Victoria bent to unroll her silk stockings Melbourne waved a hand carelessly. “You may dismiss Miss Skerrett, ma’am. I can assist you further.” Then the girl did blush, her fair complexion suffused with red. She bobbed the briefest of curtsies and fled.

“Come here, sweetheart. Let me look at you.” Victoria ducked her head shyly and, silk wrapper hanging open, walked to stand beside him. Melbourne’s eyes examined her closely, his gaze moving with exquisite slowness from her narrow shoulders and small proud breasts, nipples already hardened and poking against the fine fabric of her chemise, down past her taut abdomen and the merest hint of a dark triangle at the top of her legs. He reached out a hand and she stepped closer so he could stroke the expanse of silky skin on her thighs, above her stockings. His touch was light, only the very tips of his fingers trailing down, and she quivered in response.

He rose then, with only the merest twinge from his left leg, and moved behind her. He slid her dressing gown off her shoulders and let the soft fabric slide down her bare arms before catching it and pausing to neatly fold the garment and lay it on the end of the bed. Still behind her, so close he could feel her heat without their bodies touching, Melbourne reached around and cupped her breasts from underneath, his lips so close to her neck his breath caused the skin there to warm. With his hands flat so that his palms encompassed her torso, he stroked her sides, her flanks gently. Then he sat back down on the edge of the bed and drew her near enough so that he could roll down each stocking and remove it. Still with that lasting deliberation he pressed his lips against her stomach where it rounded and huffed a warm breath that caused her to inhale sharply. Tentatively Victoria put her hands on his shoulders, bent to kiss the crown of his head.

He made love to her with his mouth, his tongue, teasing her response, savoring each sensation and allowing her to delve fully into her own depth of feeling. When she was trembling, nearly whimpering her readiness, he gently lay her beside him and pushed himself inside, whispering in her ear, “I love you, Victoria.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Peel is keeping them in session all summer? I know some Lords who won’t be well pleased with that.” Melbourne stepped into the narrow space behind the Queen’s desk and kissed her upturned face.

“He says we will not prorogate Parliament until August. He has a full agenda to work through.” Victoria shuffled papers together, careful to align the edges, and set them aside with her usual neat, economical movements.

“He’s teetering on thin ice, ma’am. Robarts tells me the opinion in the City is the Corn Laws are doomed. I certainly see no reason for abandoning in principle a fixed price – “ Melbourne paused, looking over her shoulder at the last of the papers she’d stacked beside her dispatch box. “-why on earth is the man sending you that dreck? Since Drummond’s passing Peel seems more at sixes and sevens than ever.”

Victoria held up a cheap pamphlet of the type lampooners distributed in the streets. She turned it over curiously, holding it by the very edges to avoid the smear of cheap ink and turning down her mouth in an expression of distaste. Lord Melbourne reached for it and plucked it from her hands, but not before she took in the anatomically precise depiction of a woman’s raised posterior.

“I doubt this came from Peel,” Melbourne said tightly. “Such filth is to be found all over the streets. There is nothing too grotesque to find its way to interested viewers. Don’t think about it. Shall we walk outside in the gardens? You are missing a fine summer day.” Melbourne held out his hand. Victoria took it and rose.

“Who has been invited to the Palace tonight?”Melbourne asked as they strolled down the path.

“The Duke of Sussex and the Duchess of Inverness. The John Russells, Lord and Lady Ashley, Lord and Lady Conyngham, Sir Robert and his wife and the Duke and Duchess of Somerset. Some others, I think – I forget. My Lord Chamberlain knows the details.”

“Ah, Georgy. You know –“

“That she is Georgiana Sheridan, and sister to Mrs. Norton? Yes.” Victoria’s voice was perhaps a shade too casual to be entirely believable. Melbourne tucked her hand in his arm and drew her closer.

“Everybody is related to everyone, ma’am. You are comfortable with that?”

“I don’t remember ever having met the woman but as you say, everybody is related, and I can’t avoid them all. Particularly since you cut such a very wide swath through our great ladies. If I am to avoid all your past connections I think we would have to live on the Isle of Wight year round.” Her husband scrutinized her expression and was satisfied with what he saw there.

“Oh I might know some there too,” his teasing tone was meant to reassure her. “But as I find I don’t really remember any of them at this remove, I cannot be sure.” They turned down a graveled path.

Victoria, he knew, was exerting herself to control the fierce jealousy which lay right beneath the surface of her cool, dignified façade. It was a novelty, he often thought, and not always an entirely pleasant one to have a wife who cared that deeply, and one with no experience in the looser standards of his youth, when interesting arrangements were better understood. Melbourne reflected on her assumed equanimity, thinking that while the impetuous, demanding, spoiled girl had been a delight this more self-assured young woman was less volatile. Her effort to control her temper touched him.

“Have you been doing your restorative exercises?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, ma’am, indeed I have. Look, no walking stick.”

“And your arm? Show me your fingers flex.” Melbourne looked both ways, then paused and faced her, cupping a breast in his hand and squeezing gently. “Like this, Mrs. Melbourne?”

“I doubt that, for how would you exercise when I am busy elsewhere?” She raised her hand and laid it on his cheek tenderly. “You can always summon me. I can’t think of anything I do that takes precedence over my husband’s…recovery needs.” They laughed together, softly, comfortably, and continued walking arm in arm. With his weaker hand Melbourne patted the pocket of his coat to confirm the vile pamphlet was still there.

He meant to discuss it privately with Peel, primarily to alert him to a supposed breach of security which allowed tampering with the locked red boxes. Peel would be touchy, surrounded by Whigs at table. The thought made Melbourne smirk, but he mentioned it with a word of caution.

Victoria shrugged. “We do not talk politics at the table and Sir Robert is none too popular with his own party right now so it should not matter. Besides, I am not partisan and neither are you, now. We’ve committed to not discuss legislation or government policy outside his presence.”

“Yes…partisan pillow talk was one of his greatest fears. He fears you will be influenced by my views.”

“I am _informed_ by your views certainly and by your knowledge. I am _influenced_ by no one and I hope Sir Robert realizes that. He has been my chief minister long enough that he ought.”

“I am glad to hear you say it. You must never be influenced by anyone.” A small garden folly stood ahead and he led her up the stairs. There was a bench suspended by chains so it swung gently back and forth, on which they sat.

“Have my flowers arrived from Brocket Hall?” Melbourne asked.

“Yes, of course. I have asked for a wrist corsage to be made, and the table decorated with the most fragrant blooms.” He held her hand in his lap, idly toying with her fingers, and Victoria impulsively leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I was asked to take over for Albert in heading the Royal Fine Arts Commission,” Melbourne said after a few minutes, tilting his head to see Victoria’s face. She looked surprised, but pleased. _Then_ _she did not prompt the offer_ , he thought. _That made it tolerably better_. “I’m going to decline the honor.”

“Why? It’s most fitting. I believe they are at the stage of designing and decorating the interior. I can’t think of anyone more appropriate to lead the project.”

“Why?” Melbourne smiled tightly. “Because I let the thing burn down, it’s only fitting I rebuild it?” Victoria frowned at his cynical tone.

“Because you were Prime Minister at the time it burned and now you will be in charge of the project to replace it. Why do you say you ‘let it burn’? That’s nonsense.”

“An exaggeration perhaps, but not by much. I stood by helplessly while others rushed in to act.” Victoria saw his melancholy, almost haunted expression.

“You encouraged them to save the outer wall. You did not leave the scene that whole dreadful night. We did not need a First Lord rushing in to act as a firefighter. We needed you where you were, to direct and determine what was most important to save.

Was it awful to be at the scene? Mama and I saw the red sky from Kensington. I was fifteen and I remember thinking it looked like the whole world was burning.”

“I was far older than fifteen, and for me it felt as if the whole world was on fire. Victoria, that night was one of the worst of my life and I have no wish to relive it during the redesign.” He fell silent and Victoria sensed that she should say nothing, offer no hollow reassurance but only listen and try to understand.

“It – I was in some sort of daze, I think. It felt so _personal_ in a way I can’t describe. I’d only been Premier a few months and under my watch our entire history was ablaze. A building, irreplaceable documents, the Magna Carta – paintings, the very room where Charles I was tried – the history of a nation I held in trust, for the King, for the people –“ His voice cracked and he looked away, gathering himself and then showed Victoria a bright, entirely false smile. “It’s far too beautiful a day to dwell on such things. Let us continue our walk. I have a desire to visit the nursery and see our princess smile at me. Nothing cures a case of the megrims better.” He rose and took Victoria’s hand. When they were nearly back to the palace proper he looked down at her. “Did you want me to do it?”

Victoria considered the matter. “Not if it makes you unhappy, of course not. But – it would be a wonderful thing if the new building bore your name, your vision, your input on design, your…your passion for the country and for our history. I think you would find great satisfaction in being part of a work that will stand long after we’re gone. For Liam, when he’s King, to look at the new building and know his father played a part.”

Melbourne considered her response thoughtfully. “I only wish I were half the man you think I am. But I will not refuse without talking to you further. As my wife, and as my Queen.”

They held hands as they walked up the Great Staircase and made their way to the Royal apartments. At an earlier time in history such a sight would have occasioned shocked stares, whispers and gossip, but for Queen Victoria and her Lord Melbourne it was an everyday occurrence.

* * *

 After dinner the gentlemen had lingered overlong with their port and Victoria was growing restive when they finally came in. As it always did her searching glance sought her husband and she frowned slightly when he failed to appear with the other gentlemen. Robert Peel, alone among the Whig nobles who were Melbourne’s friends, was also absent. Curious but not concerned, Victoria refocused her attention on her guests. She hoped she had matured since those heady, early days of giddy infatuation; she understood that what they shared went far deeper than his mere presence at her side. Still, she acknowledged to herself nothing would ever feel _quite_ right in his absence. Instead of scolding, she was content to admire the figure he cut – no other man ever looked so carelessly elegant, and certainly none had the figure to wear formal knee breeches and exquisitely cut tailcoat like he did – while conversing distractedly with those seated near her.

When he finally joined them Victoria knew instantly. As she watched with pride Melbourne smiled, laughed, chatted with old friends, accepted a glass of champagne and gradually came closer. He enjoyed the spark of physical attraction which ignited when he and Victoria were near one another and allowed to simmer, a tantalizing slow burn. When he reached the Queen he bowed over her hand with courtier’s grace before seating himself. Victoria only smiled discreetly when their eyes met – she too relished the tingling warmth that suffused her veins when he was near – before turning her attention back to the lady on her other side.

“William, you look well,” Georgina Seymour, Duchess of Somerset, said to Melbourne in a low tone. Victoria stiffened slightly but didn’t turn her attention from the person on her other side. She felt Melbourne pick up her hand, seemingly a vague gesture but one for which she was grateful.

“As do you, ma’am,” he replied smoothly, in a bored-sounding drawl. “I’m sure Peel is delighted Edward could be here. One more Tory at the board…” Melbourne allowed his voice to trail off dismissively.

“I have been most hopeful of seeing you, William. You answer none of my letters.”

“You wrote? To _me?_ ” He arched his brows. “Whatever could have prompted that? Oh…of course, wishing us happiness.” He lifted Victoria’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Then it is indeed fortunate you are here tonight and may offer felicitations.”

The Victoria did shift, raising her chin and looking at the older woman from under lowered lids, in her most quelling expression.

“Of course, Your Majesty, Lord Melbourne. I’m sure we were all surprised at the news.”

Melbourne murmured some excuse and wandered away, heading towards a trio of gentlemen standing near the piano. To her outrage, Victoria saw Lady Somerset rise and follow him. She tried to quell her distress but really, such behavior was most improper, quite shameless, she thought. Those Sheridans were all rumored to be quite _fast_ , a designation which would interest her not at all except where it concerned Lord M.

Melbourne for his part resigned himself to facing the inevitable. Clearly Caroline’s sister was bent on cornering him.

“William, I want to speak to you,” The lady hissed. “Pray, do not walk away. I will only follow.”

“Yes…what do you wish to say to me?” Melbourne used his sleepiest tone.

“Only that Caroline did not take news of your marriage well. She desires reassurance that it was for advancement only and that nothing has changed between you and her.”

Melbourne arched an eyebrow and sneered. “How unfortunate for her. I _can_ reassure her that nothing has changed between us, because there was _nothing_ between us. I am much afraid, Georgie, that the emotional toll of her marital strife is beginning to affect her reason if she believes otherwise.”

“Can you deny you and she were close once?”

“’Close’? I once considered her a friend, but sadly came to the realization that she and I defined that term quite differently. And I reached _that_ realization when she made far more of what there was than I did, and even perhaps ignited Norton’s jealousy for her own purposes. I would not be a gentleman if I said more, but you will do your sister a service if you convince her to find someone else on which to focus her _intense_ affection.”

“William, I don’t come to intercede for her. I want to warn you. She has become quite _obsessed_ and will ruin you if she can. Or, if not you, for I believe she still loves you, then your _situation_. That is all I wanted to say. There is only one thing more important to her than regaining your regard, and that is her children. I think if she were to have them, and funds enough to get out of the country, she would travel to Italy willingly, if only to keep them away from George.”

“Georgiana-“ Melbourne took her by the wrist. “I doubt Caroline can understand but try to make her see that I love my wife. This is not a _situation_ or an _arrangement._  Ours was a love match. Please be sure your sister understands _that_.” He dropped her arm and composed his features into a genial expression. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Wait –“ It was her turn to grab his arm. Aware that they were beginning to attract curious glances, Melbourne curbed his open annoyance. “She insisted on coming with me tonight. She played lady’s maid and is in the retiring room. See her, William, or she will cause a scene and I’m sure I don’t want that anymore than you do.”

Melbourne took a few deep breaths to calm himself and walked casually back to the Queen. He laid his hands on her bare shoulders and put his mouth to her ear.

“I must see to something, ma’am. Trust me.”

When he stepped into the wide corridor Melbourne at first saw only a bored page, staring disinterestedly off into space. Then he noticed a figure staring at him fixedly from a shadowy passage leading, he assumed, to the rooms where female visitors pinned up their hems, fixed torn flounces and the like.

Caroline Norton had been a celebrated beauty, one of the trio of Sheridan sisters society called “the Three Graces.” She was still a strikingly handsome woman, or would be, Melbourne noticed with detachment, if her features weren’t perpetually screwed into an expression of dissatisfaction with her lot in life. The plain gray worsted dress of a lady’s maid did not particularly become her, but it mattered little for he firmly intended no one would see her. Melbourne grabbed her forearm roughly and dragged her further back into the short passage.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” He growled. “You must get out of here now. I will get you a carriage.”

“I had to see you and there was no other way. You don’t answer my letters, you never call. And then your _marriage_ is announced. What was I to think?” Instead of pulling away from his stern hold she leaned into him. Melbourne’s thoughts raced, but paramount was his need to get her away before someone saw them, the kind of scandal every person present at the Queen’s reception not forty feet away would spread with giddy amusement.

“You were to _think_ what any sane person would think, ma’am. That I did not wish to have contact with you. Must it be more complicated than that? Did you think this charade, this _trick_ , would change my mind?”

“I thought it might. After all, it’s the kind of thing Caro might have done and you were ever amused by her antics. You’ve always been attracted by _unconventional_ women.” She lurched further forward yet so that he could feel her breasts and thighs pushing against him, and he abruptly jerked her arm so she was flung against the wall.

“You go too far. Caro was my wife and I loved her in spite of her behavior, not because of it. You can make no such claim.”

“ _Loved_ her? After the way she humiliated you? I would never do that, William.”

“This discussion is pointless. Yes, I loved my wife. And now I have another wife and I love _her_. Deal with it. Now. You. Are. Leaving.” He motioned for her to stay and stepped into the corridor to address the page.

“Find someone to escort this lady out. She has lost her way. Have her put in a carriage and delivered to town.”

“Whose carriage, sir?” The young man asked.

“I don’t care. Any carriage. Whichever is ready to go. On my order.”

“You do not even ask me how I go on. How the boys are. Brin has been ill and little William – it’s been two years since we lost him and you scarcely reached out to me on that sad occasion. Have you no feeling for them at all?”

“I was sincerely sorry to hear of the death of your child, and I believe I wrote to convey that. What more feeling should I have than that?”

“Paternal feelings, William. You were there when they were born.”

“Caroline, stop. You torment your poor husband with such insinuations you know to be false, and now you use them on me, the one person who certainly knows the truth. Just stop. You make yourself distasteful to me where once we were friends. Not in love, but friends.” Melbourne felt the overwhelming anger – and near panic – leech out of him, unsustainable. He had enjoyed this woman’s attentions, had spent part of every day with her for years – with her avaricious husband’s full endorsement – and relished knowing that such an acclaimed beauty favored him. He had not been in love with her, any more than he had been with Lady Branden, but liked her immensely. After the tumult of his marriage and then the quieter heartbreak of Caro’s last years, Melbourne had been quite relieved to be able to enjoy the scintillating companionship of bright, talented, beautiful women without the energy-sapping, soul-draining love connection that had bound him to his wife. With Caroline Norton he had shared everything, the minutae of his life, Augustus, Susan, all the challenges of office, and that steady friendship had kept him afloat.

But then came Victoria, and he’d tumbled head over heels in love again like a green youth.

“Caroline,” he sighed. “Please leave now. We will talk again in future when…when this situation calms down and you have gained some perspective. Perhaps then we can continue as friends. But you must understand that I am in love with my wife and will allow nothing to affect that.” Quite unaware, Melbourne’s expression softened and his eyes misted when speaking of Victoria. Caroline Norton saw and flinched at the sight. “There will be no flirtation, no dalliance, no private tête-à-têtes between us. Do you understand?” His tone was harsh once more, and he looked at her coldly. “If you can accept that, perhaps we can write and pick up where we left off as friends. Perhaps I can help you have Fletcher and Brin with you at least part of the year and – and an income sufficient to establish you credibly in Europe.”

Mrs. Norton snorted. “You would pay me to leave the country? Or _she_ would? Do I threaten her that much?” She once more moved to close the gap between them, reaching out a hand in appeal.

Melbourne heard some small noise behind them. The page he’d sent for an officer had returned and had brought with him - “Lord Cameron,” Melbourne said, dismayed but not particularly surprised because somehow it seemed inevitable that Victoria’s most dedicated courtier should be the one who found them.

“The boy said you wanted someone escorted out?” Cameron said, lazily flipping that waterfall of hair back off his face as he lifted his head. Melbourne stood aside and indicated the woman standing behind him.

“And will this big brute remove me physically if I refuse to leave?” She swayed against Melbourne once more and he speculated she'd been drinking to bolster her courage.

“If I need to, ma’am…most definitely. As His Lordship requires.” Cameron drawled with his lilting Irish brogue, grinning insolently. Melbourne had no doubt he would pick up the woman beside him and throw her over his shoulder like spoils of war, but for all that his smile was appealing and Caroline responded with a flirtatious assessing look. Melbourne nodded briskly and walked away.

He didn’t return to the Queen’s side. He went to his own apartments instead. The stiffness of public life at Court seemed suddenly unbearable. Rigid Court etiquette, the carefully bland, inoffensive conversations scrubbed of every incidental _hell_ and _damnation_ which spiced ordinary discussion, the neutral expressionless masks of courtiers determined to give no offense was hard to bear on the best of days and Melbourne acknowledged he was not having the best of days. Victoria was not herself, none of her vitality and directness to be seen, when she was in Queen mode, he could only hope for shared stolen glances and a sudden quirking of her lips when he blurted out some non sequitur to break the monotony. In his own small apartment, not the grander space officially designated for the Queen’s Consort, Melbourne tore off his cravat, threw his coat aside and flung himself onto a chair.

Caroline Norton smuggling herself into Windsor had been infuriating and unsettling. Despite what the woman thought, he did not like singularity in women, not to the extent of flamboyant sensationalism. The rather mild carnal attraction she’d held for him previously was utterly absent now. In that regard at least his conscience was clear. Seeing her roused no desire at all. That had never been what their friendship was about although he’d have been a eunuch to not sample what she offered. Now though, his marriage was entirely satisfactory in that regard. No, he thought, what he missed about his friendship was Caroline was rather the ease he took in her presence, lolling on her furniture, amused, entertained, able to discuss anything and depend on her acute good sense and keen intellect to give him a sounding board. She never minced words and rarely coddled him, for all her infatuation. She stimulated his intellect, shared his rather unorthodox sense of humor and could debate like a man.

As little as Melbourne wanted any disruption in his relationship with Victoria, he did not relish the prospect of permanently severing ties with another old friend. He counted those he’d already lost, to time, to distance and to death. Henry Holland’s death he had felt most keenly. Henry had been his dearest friend, and those wonderful nights at Holland House the centerpiece of his world as they were for most of society. Even before Henry’s death, his presence at the celebrated Holland House dinners dwindled when his relationship with the new Queen intensified. Victoria did not take kindly to Melbourne choosing to spend time with anyone but herself. True, the Queen had pleased Lady Holland greatly by ending that societal exclusion which so stigmatized her even decades after her divorce, but after Elizabeth’s first presentation Melbourne’s old friend showed little inclination to return. It was the idea of the thing, he understood, which mattered so.

He’d lost so many more friends over the years, an inevitable part of growing older. Caroline Norton had been a charming companion, sharp-tongued, intellectual, witty, a thoroughly fascinating woman. He acknowledged to himself that he was flattered by her preferring him above all the other, younger men who frequented her salons. Not to the exclusion of those others, he knew, but did not begrudge her lovers for he neither expected nor wanted a monogamous connection. She was simply very good company and he’d liked her greatly.

Melbourne sighed and reached for the decanter of forbidden brandy, knowing how vociferously the doctors would disapprove. _I will never see sixty again. Must I cast off someone who’s been a friend to me? Must I send her away? End all contact?_ He took a long drink and savored the latent burn beneath its silky smoothness. Of course, he would never lower his guard again or put himself in a position which could be misconstrued by the most upright of critics, but perhaps they could maintain some degree of friendship.

He thought of Victoria, her fiery nature, the strong vein of passion he’d awakened in her. He had truly taught her everything, from history to politics to constitutional law to lovemaking. Melbourne knew she loved him with her whole tempestuous heart – sometimes, he worried, even to the exclusion of their own children – and he adored her. She was life itself to him and he would never risk his precious girl’s heart. Her fierce jealousy had been tempered only slightly by time, and she still resented anyone who took him away from her. For good reason, Mrs. Norton was the one she hated most.

Melbourne had no desire to cause Victoria distress and his instinct was to protect her from anything which might do that. She was still so young and so very _needy_ that everything was black and white to her. When she loved she loved completely, without hesitation, and when she hated, it was likewise no halfway measure. Melbourne reflected ruefully that however much the poets glorified grand passion, as much as he adored his darling girl, sometimes a great love, a love for the ages, could be _wearying_ and one yearned for the occasional respite of something easier, familiar and _comfortable._


	21. Chapter 21

Melbourne only gradually became aware of small sounds – horses’ bridles jingling in the great drive, post boys and drivers’ raised voices – that told him the evening was breaking up. He poured another brandy, vaguely surprised at how much the level had gone down, and sighed deeply. He knew himself to be in a strange, disordered mood and would rather spare her, as quick as she was to intuit anything he might be feeling. People of their station had not, in his time as a young husband, shared a bedchamber routinely and he considered that a reasonable way to accommodate privacy within marriage. Ironic that now, in a palace with over 900 rooms, it was so difficult to steal away and be alone. Melbourne resigned himself to the fact that he must go to her, knowing that she would be disturbed if he did not appear. He did not fail to mock himself for that passing reluctance – what man of his age would hesitate an instant, knowing he had a nubile, very young woman waiting for him? But habits, he reflected, were much easier made than broken and what was nothing more than a vague wish to be alone in his chair with his thoughts would magnify itself into something far more than intended.

As soon as he entered the Queen’s chamber – his now, too – Melbourne shed his restlessness and at least some of his glum disposition, seeing her sitting alone with a book in her lap, all glowing golden skin and big eyes and streaming hair. Predictably relief and affection washed over her face when she saw him, before a more cautious expression stilled her features.

“What are you reading?” He asked, for nothing better to say. She slid over to accommodate him as he sat on the edge of the bed by her side.

“An accounting of that night – the night of the fire,” Victoria said, her voice soft and shy. Melbourne lifted the volume to read the gilt lettering on the spine.

“Rather dry account,” he murmured. “I know the author. Not his best work.” It was, of course, the report written under his direction and published over his byline. Some small voice in the back of his mind, dry, acerbic and critical, sounding much like his old friend Emma Portman, nagged him to tell her about their uninvited visitor. _Now is not the time_ , he argued with himself. Instead he laid the book back in her lap and turned around to sit beside her, resting his back against the headboard.

“Would you like me to tell you what I remember about it?”

“16 October. Not a date any of us will ever forget. The Houses weren’t very popular with those who worked in them. A rabbit warren of old and older, tacked onto each other with little overall planning. The facilities were crude. I think we all viewed it as one does one’s childhood home, open to all sorts of criticism but in the end…home of our constitution and our very civic life.

They later determined that the burning of tally sticks ignited the blaze and it must have been burning unnoticed for the better part of the day. When I was called to the scene it was –“ Melbourne heard his voice crack, and cleared his throat. “it was fully engaged. The entire thing ablaze. Althorp, Palmerston, some others of the cabinet, we all arrived at nearly the same time. Palmerston took some men and rushed in, forcing a door to preserve invaluable documents. I…did not. Both Houses were engulfed. Victoria, no one who was not there can possibly imagine how enormous, how overwhelming, the fire was. All our history, the archives, priceless works of art, the Law Courts…the Armada tapestries…” Melbourne found himself able to recall the acrid stench, the din of thousands of people blocking the streets, those many on hand to help and those few opportunists determined to scavenge what they could. How he gave the order, near hysterical at the time, to save the law records, and then seeing those precious papers fly willy nilly out of windows, to be carried away on the wind, stamped into the mud, carried off as souvenirs of that night and the conflagration seen round the world. How he made the impossible Solomon’s choice to save only the Hall and the outer wall, and focus all effort on preserving what little remained, the only viable option left to them. Melbourne talked and talked, his voice growing hoarse, reliving for the first time the events of that horrific night. He’d experienced it over and over in nightmares and waking images, but never before described it. Those who were there with him had no need and those who weren’t, could never understand.

Victoria listened to him rapt, without interruption, absorbing his emotion in the telling as much as she did the words. He did not notice when she slipped her small hand under his but he gripped it tightly all the same. When he finally wound down, his voice trailing off, Victoria saw him staring off into space, fixed on those images only he could see, and she sat quietly beside him, her shoulder touching his, breathing in tandem.

When he came to himself once more Melbourne gave her a small twisted smile. “That, ma’am, was the most inglorious moment of my career, and the worst night of my life. I’d been First Lord only a short time, a few weeks, and superintended the near-destruction of our collective history.” He blinked, shook his head slightly. “I would not have made you proud that night.”

“My Uncle King considered you did. I’ve read his words to you. He commended you, offered you Buckingham House for the use of your government. And even when he dismissed you on ideological grounds, you were the one he recalled six months later to form a government.” Victoria’s voice was whispery-soft. She believed what she said with all her heart, Melbourne knew, but he also knew that she had never outgrown her hero worship of him, and that, sometimes, was a heavy burden to shoulder.

“Well…it’s done and the rebuilding is well under way. I don’t envy Barry the bureaucratic tangle he faces. It’s become a hyper-partisan nightmare, the construction project from hell. His drawings depicted a truly magnificent structure but when any plan is executed by committee, well…” Melbourne threw off his reverie with determined effort and looked at the wide-eyed girl at his side. _My wife_ , he said to himself. _The Queen_. _How singular a thing that is! Whoever could have predicted, that night as I stood in the mud and ash and wished myself in the inferno when that final roof beam caved in, that I would be here a decade later._

“We had an unwanted visitor tonight. It seems Windsor Castle is no more secure than when Boy Jones paid his visits.” Melbourne felt Victoria go still beside him. _Does she know then?_ “Lady Somerset’s ‘maid’ was in fact her sister. Caroline Norton paid us a visit.”

Victoria said nothing, only waited for him to continue. Melbourne felt her coiled tension as well as her effort to remain calm, understood how fragile her grip on her emotion was.

“I sent her away, of course. Cameron fortuitously responded when I sent a page to summon an escort to remove her. I think we can trust that whatever she might have…confided on the trip back to town will remain private. His devotion to you will preclude gossip.”

Melbourne waited for her response. She seemed about to speak several times, but halted before the words were out. Finally she said, “How interesting,” in a carefully neutral tone. Her response hung in the air between them for a long moment, until finally Melbourne laughed, breaking the bubble of tension.

“Oh, my darling girl, I never love you half so well as when you’re trying so very hard!” He shifted his position so he faced her and lifted her chin so he could see into her eyes. They slid aside momentarily before she allowed herself to meet his own gaze.

“I don’t know _what_ to say, William,” she wailed plaintively. “Please, tell me.”

Melbourne lifted her easily, as light as she was, and set her on his lap. “Perhaps there’s nothing much _to_ say. She had been drinking, I suspect, and was overwrought and I had her removed. That is all there was to it.” He smoothed back her hair. “She was not like this when I – when we were friends. Before her troubles with her husband, before the trial, before her husband called his ridiculous witnesses to perjure themselves with the most obscene, invented details, all reported publicly in the papers. She has lost her sons, all three to George and then one to death. She has lost most of her income, even that which she earns herself, from her writing. Lost her friends, at least most of them. She can’t be received in the homes of those who used to consider themselves lucky to be invited to hers. Somehow she focuses all her misery on me. I bear some of the blame, but not nearly as much as either she or the public seems to believe. She feels abandoned by nearly everyone, me most of all. She did not take the news of our marriage well, and so…she ended up here.”

“What does that woman want?” Victoria’s tone attempted to convey anger, but underneath he heard her doubt. Doubt of herself and her ability to hold his interest; doubt of him perhaps. _Was she completely wrong to feel so?_ Melbourne dismissed that thought out of hand. Holding her, he wanted nothing else in the world and could not imagine it otherwise.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Can we not make more of it than it was? A trespass, interesting as you said, nothing more?” He gently encouraged her to relax against him, stroking her hair, her back, until he felt her unbend and curl herself against his chest. When he heard Victoria’s small sigh of contentment, finding comfort in his arms, he felt his own sense of relief. _This, then, this is all that matters. What else could I possibly want? A measure of my old independence? Was it so fine a thing to find solace in other people’s homes, return to an empty lodging, a cold bed? You old fool! Be very grateful for this precious gift you’ve been given, and very, very careful you don’t squander it._

When Victoria seemed to be asleep, breathing deeply, Melbourne was still awake. Careful not to wake her, he disengaged his arm and stood, looking down at her briefly before walking out of the room. Unnoticed, Victoria opened her eyes and watched him go, her expression troubled. 

* * *

 

The Queen’s schedule was full of inconsequential but necessary engagements. When she entered the morning room only her mother was present. Victoire responded to her daughter’s question in the affirmative, saying only that Lord Melbourne had been there earlier, seemed quite cordial, and departed soon after drinking coffee and looking over the morning papers.

“Drina, you look troubled. Did you have a disagreement?” Victoria hesitated, searching her mother’s expression for anything untoward, but saw only mild interest.

“No, Mama. He just seems…different. Quieter? I’m not sure –“ The Duchess of Kent stroked her daughter’s cheek, smiling.

“Drina, your Lord M is no longer your Prime Minister, he is your husband. The husband you chose. It is no longer his duty to pander to you, to entertain you and maintain a cheerful demeanor in your presence.” Victoria felt the sting of criticism but could not take offense because her mother’s hand on her cheek, her smile, was full of kindness. Still, she felt like a selfish child who had been gently admonished.

“I do not expect him to entertain me, Mama. Only to talk to me, to be here.”

“Drina, you must loosen your hold on him. I have no doubt if you insist, he would never leave your side. But I do not think you would like the consequence.”

The Duchess appeared about to say more, but instead held her tongue, only blowing steam from the fresh cup of coffee she had poured before setting it before Victoria.

“What, Mama? If you have something to say, please say it,” Victoria snapped crossly.

“Oh, Victoria, I do not know your Lord M well. But I know he was a very important man, the head of government in this country and before that, Home Secretary and a – a Parliament member. He was in society and had many friends, ladies and gentlemen both. This must be a great change for him, giving up all that to be your husband. I think maybe it is more difficult than he expected. Who attends to him? Who includes him in those important things men such as he discuss, that determine the fate of this country? Drina, Albert was a boy, and it wore him down. I know how much he struggled with feeling like a mere ornament, standing about in gold braid. I remember what he told me and think how much more difficult it must be for a man like Melbourne than it was for a boy like Albert.”

“What can I do, Mama? Everyone respects William but he himself declines to push any view, any opinion. It is William, much more than Peel, who declines to engage in any substantive discussions during my audiences. I thought heading the Arts Commission would suit him but he declined.”

If possible, the older woman’s expression grew even more tender but also, Victoria thought, somewhat patronizing. As if there were much about her own husband she did not understand.

“Arts Commission? This is what Albert did, helping men choose pictures for the walls of the new Parliament?” The Duchess lifted a brow and spoke volumes by doing so. “I do not know what you can do, Victoria. Perhaps nothing. Except try, a little, to loosen the - how do you say it, when you walk Dash on a rope so he does not chase the _hase_ , the bunny rabbit? – the leash you keep him on. And love him. Marriage is never easy, Victoria, and it is more difficult with two people at such different stages of life. Do not expect it to be always as it is when you are intimate, when his whole attention is on only you in the bedchamber. There is much more to life than that, and it can not all be shared. Your husband is not a doll, to be held for comfort and set down to watch when you are busy.” She softened her words with another caress. Victoria was seething inside, and only gave the merest head nod of acknowledgement before sweeping out of the room.

Melbourne rode into town with the intention of meeting with Pugin, Barry’s fellow and the man responsible for designing the interiors of the great new buildings. It sounded like make-work task to him, overseeing such a commission, but he was curious how the project was progressing and so decided there was no better time to see it than a beautiful summer day. He fervently hoped the bright blue sky and warm sun would burn off the ghosts of that night.

It was not his first visit to the site, neither was it a location he frequented. Melbourne had voiced the concern of the Members while also expressing his own strong beliefs, when he penned the letter to King William declining Buckingham House in favor of rebuilding on the old site. Too large a space would have only made room for hordes of unruly spectators seeking to influence deliberations and see laws being made, while building on the old site would maintain those links to history so vital for stability in a tumultuous century. He still believed he’d been right, even though it meant reclaiming nearly eight acres of river bottom at exorbitant cost. Melbourne didn’t pretend to understand the engineering feat of that project alone, but it now lay before him, a vast footprint sprawling along the river’s edge. A long cofferdam extended hundreds of feet, the outer wall a double row of piles with puddled clay between.

Melbourne arrived incognito except for the most discrete of royal crests on the door of his carriage, gilt covered over in black stain at his express request. Hundreds of laborers moved about in an impressive ballet, every one of them intent on some aspect of the great task.

George Von Wettin had been told to expect him, and the young man, shirtsleeves rolled up, bearing several long rolls of drawings, bounded up breathlessly.

Young George had been Prince Albert’s favored companion – his romantic partner, however those things worked, Melbourne thought – but for all that he was well respected as one of Barry’s young associates, the man most often on the scene, directly overseeing the most tricky parts of the project. As they walked and talked, it began to come alive in Melbourne’s mind, the reality of the grand new building. He began to see the necessity of a unified interior design to convey the proper sense of history and gravitas, to incorporate those artifacts recovered from the old structure and compensate for those lost to the flames.

Soon enough the midday sun was high above and Melbourne took off his own black broadcloth coat, slinging it over his shoulder, clambering over piles behind Von Wettin, ducking to evade men bearing weighted buckets brimming with tools and carrying great long beams.

To his surprise, Melbourne found his visit much more enjoyable than anticipated. The sense of urgency and energy, Von Wettin’s clear passion for the project, even the clambering about and getting dirty, all had its own novel appeal. He accepted George’s offer to join him at a local working man’s pub where the construction foremen gathered for their luncheon break and drank beer with the rough Welshmen who cursed roundly and said everything in loud booming voices grown accustomed to the din of a worksite.

The day passed far more quickly than he could have imagined. When the worksite quieted at dusk – it was never completely idle, but the night was owned by the master craftsmen who did their fine work by lamplight – Melbourne almost regretfully left.

It was well past midnight when Melbourne returned to Windsor. He had first headed for the Palmerstons’ town home. Henry Temple had been there that night, and would appreciate hearing about everything Melbourne had seen and experienced of the new buildings. At least, Melbourne hoped he would. He wanted to drink and talk with an old crony, and delay the inevitable return to the stifling confines of the palace.

When he finally tread the hallowed halls of Windsor Castle, Melbourne send a hall page to summon his valet to his apartment. As he washed off the grime, Melbourne was amused to see that he had lightly skinned both palms – the abrasions reminiscent of boyhood – and had some fresh bruises on his shins. It felt good, he reflected, as did the tiredness not induced by an excess of brandy, but by exertion. After he dismissed his valet, Melbourne considered remaining in his own apartment. He felt he could sleep well and without dreams, and did not want to wake Victoria. That thought led to another, of the comfort of her warmth, her delicious fragrance, her soft skin and silky hair, and he knew he would be denying himself if he chose to pursue this impulse toward solitude. When he lifted the covers to slide into bed beside her she instantly moved towards him without fully waking. He idly grasped a hank of her long hair around his fingers and almost immediately joined her in sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

Melbourne had kept his lodging on South Street. for no particular reason except not thinking to do otherwise. The house, including stables, cost little more than £2000 a year to maintain and it was so convenient to everything he’d never considered giving it up. Now he opened it once more to use as an office, as he involved himself more extensively in the supervision of the Arts Commission. No sooner had his appointment been announced than he was inundated with applicants for his time. Barry himself expressed relief that he could be spared at least some of the claims on his time not related directly to the work at hand. Just a few months before he’d been forced to devote half a day when he could least spare it to taking Grand Duke Michel of Russia through, climbing scaffolds, peering at drawings, one more stop on his London tour, right before seeing the zebras at the Zoological Gardens. It was only one example the harried man gave of the reasons he was grateful for someone with knowledge of the project and sufficient rank and position to divert the incessant interruptions.

The other commission members felt long overdue for their own site inspection so Melbourne arranged a tour through George Van Wetten and Pugin, Barry’s collaborator. Melbourne knew Pugin to be the opposite of Barry in temperament, an artistic genius with extreme, labile sensitivities so he was grateful for access to the phlegmatic young German.

While the other commissioners oohed and ahed over the proposed stonework and fine wood, and placement of statuary and murals Melbourne fixed on a detail of proportion that seemed off somehow, from the 1836 plans he’d approved and taken to the Lords. The Robing Room seemed much farther distant than he’d remembered. Melbourne took Von Wettin aside, and in his most carefully jovial unassuming voice asked about it, expressing his concern at the great distance Her Majesty would have to travel in heavy State robes. Von Wettin, frowning, unrolled some of the plans he carried.

“I’ll have to take this up with Mr. Barry, Lord Melbourne. It seems that the distance has increased by 140’ from the original plan, although I’m not sure what prompted the change.” Melbourne thanked him graciously and assured him that he was not challenging or criticizing, merely attempting to fully understand the decision-making process. Privately he considered that, despite the myriad responsibilities Barry had and the undoubtedly arduous task of attempting to please every single one of the MPs who considered themselves overseers, surely the sovereign in whose name the new Palace was being constructed should be paramount. Nonetheless, Melbourne accepted that his role would require a great deal of tact to grease the wheels and smooth feelings on all sides.

In his South Street house he received a delegation from the Commons, intent on demanding that the Commission intercede and demand an explanation for what they saw as a delay. These gentlemen too Melbourne soothed, giving every impression of taking their side while promising nothing.  Since Barry himself was an astute business man with political savvy, he’d managed to turn the most difficult questions and demands from both Houses against himself, to the Houses against each other, which meant that Melbourne’s old colleagues on both sides of the aisle brought their grievances to him to mediate.

Overall, he considered it a most satisfactory beginning. It was a different sort of part to play, Melbourne discovered, the designated neutral head, presumed – as representative of the Crown – to be above partisan bickering, party politics and the ingrained system of patronage. He found it rather suited him, a moderating voice of reason and soon enough the one person all the others turned to seeking dispute resolution and a cutting-through of red tape and bureaucratic obstacles. To the laborers, their supervisors, the journeymen and apprentices, the suppliers of vast quantities of building materials, even the men poring over cumbersome schematics, Melbourne was just another nob but one who was genial, generally amusing and amused, endlessly interested in long-winded explanations which caused the eyes of most of the other aristos who periodically strolled through the site to glaze over. But approbation quickly spread to the men in the trenches from their superiors, that _this_ nob was a fellow who could get things done and even get those at the top to take notice of matériel shortages, get overdue invoices paid and just plain listen, even to a man covered in dust with callouses on his hands.

Melbourne knew well his own limitations and made no pretense of understanding all those things outside his frame of reference. His strength was a willingness, even eagerness, to listen and learn from anyone who had a skill, a talent or special insight to offer, and a boundless curiosity to satisfy.

Gradually, as word spread that he had re-emerged from the virtual seclusion of the Court, old cronies began coming around, visiting at the South Street House, inviting him to dine at one of the gentlemen’s vlubs or their town homes, and on those evenings he would send a note to the Palace, advising the Queen of his delay and late return.

He made sure to be especially attentive to Victoria when he had the opportunity. They saw little of each other for some weeks, but always he remembered to seek her out when he could, bringing amusing anecdotes and stories he hoped she would find interesting. As always she listened to him intently, laughing at his sallies, blushing and leaning into his embraces, smiling prettily at his approach. Melbourne congratulated himself that he was managing rather well to carve out some sort of meaningful work for himself while remaining attentive to his Queen. He was, after all, representing her on the Commission, overseeing the most important work of many centuries.

Tsar Nicolas I of Russia, along with his ambassador Baron Brunow, was visiting London to mend fences after his most recent expansionist adventures in Afghanistan. Melbourne had, he hoped, persuaded Victoria that most issues between nations were not black and white, and she was as fond of her godfather the Tsar as she had been of his handsome son, Grand Duke Alexander, so if he gave the matter any thought it would have been to suppose the visit would be a tranquil, even pleasant affair for the Queen and her Court. Unfortunately, in hindsight, he could not particularly recall discussing the visit with Victoria at all. _Surely she mentioned it?_ He thought, sheepishly wondering whether he’d simply not retained it when she had, giving some or another banal response.

The Tsar especially wanted to visit the site and Charles Barry was more than happy to allow Melbourne to arrange the details. Barry would put in an appearance, delegate a protégé to lead the tour and defer to Melbourne on all other details.

It would be the first such official delegation he would meet without the luxury of a full staff to support him. Only Tom Young remained; Will Cowper was acting as the Queen’s Private Secretary. Melbourne knew to the day, the hour, when the Tsar was arriving in London and when he would visit the site. He worked late each evening with Tom, Von Wettin and Lord Lincoln to ensure that every detail had been considered, every contingency planned for. They spent most of the day away from South Street, traversing the planned route of the tour, meeting with the various construction foremen and engineers who would play a part and huddling with Barry himself in his makeshift office in the middle of the new Commons building.

It was only inevitable, Melbourne thought later, that sooner rather than later the common knowledge of his new position and his working routine would reach _her_ ears. He was not quite surprised when Caroline Norton was ushered in to his library not a fortnight after he’d set up shop on South Street. She was all bright smiles and confiding chatter that was intimate without quite crossing the line. When Tom Young made to withdraw he bid him stay.

She was a charming woman, no doubt, Melbourne thought, remembering why he had found her company so appealing, why so many gentlemen found her company so appealing. To say she was as intelligent as a man was to do her a disservice, for Melbourne had found few men with her wit and quick understanding and she had an undeniable charisma. Still, all he could think of now was the appearance of the thing, her presence in his house, his _private_ house.

“Caroline, I must ask you to leave,” he rose and walked around his desk, intending to take her elbow and gently, or not so gently, escort her out. She leaned into him playfully before righting herself and offering as her excuse that she felt she must apologize for her quite inappropriate foray into Windsor Castle.

“ _Where you dine with your_ family,” she said archly, her voice heavy with contempt.

Melbourne was torn – to talk to her honestly, to tell her how much he loved Victoria, would set a tone of intimacy between them which belied the context. To do anything else would encourage her to persist in this delusion.

“Do you want to be friends, Caroline? Genuinely restore some part of the friendship which existed between us? Or is your only goal to cause trouble for my wife?” Melbourne asked of her, genuinely curious as to her motives.

“I care nothing for your _royal girl_ , William. I was always your favorite, no matter how many others you held in _friendship._ Miss Eden, Lady Stanhope – need I go on? But in the end, we always had a perfect understanding between us and I was the one you returned to.”

Melbourne looked at her, shaking his head, turning away to dismiss her. He felt her hand on his arm.

“All right. Yes, I wish to be your friend, William. More if you’ll have me, always more, but I will settle for friendship.”

“Perhaps. In time. Perhaps you too will fall in love and then be content to have some measure of friendship between us. But for now, leave me – leave us alone. I do not forget easily the last letters you wrote, threatening retribution, alluding to harm you could do. I don’t care to play these games.”

Not one to be openly discouraged, Caroline Norton only tossed her head with a saucy smile. “You’ll see. You’ll long for an old friend to talk to, one who knows and values you as a man, not a father figure or mentor or – Never mind. I actually had another reason for coming to see you.”

“While I will not be _exiled_ and will continue to write you, if I had the security of an allowance, something beyond the pittance Norton allows me, I have a mind to travel. Italy, I think.”

“How far beyond a pittance are you thinking, Caroline?” Melbourne already knew whatever it was, he would pay it, to get rid of her at least for a time. She named a figure and he wrote out a draft.

“I should have asked for more. You’ll pay anything to keep your little queen happy, won’t you?”

When he finally dragged himself into a carriage for the trip back to Buckingham House – for despite the summer heat and fetid air in the City, Victoria had moved the Court back from Windsor to spare him the extra travel – Melbourne was exhausted, gritty from the ever-present dust, sticky with dried perspiration, his back and feet aching. To his surprise the carriage slowed almost to a crawl and he leaned his head out the window, directing the driver to turn into the Park in hopes of avoiding the worst of the traffic. The trip still took far longer than was customary and Melbourne had to rouse himself from a light sleep when they finally arrived.

Buckingham was ablaze with light, outdoor lanterns illuminating the grounds, every window bright. Melbourne searched his mind for some event, good or bad, to account for the late night activity.  He climbed down, his back protesting painfully once more from a day spent on his feet and huddling over blueprints, and tiredly headed inside.

Once up the grand staircase he saw that while the wing with the private apartments was dimly lit and quiet, the State rooms were ablaze with light and the sound of many voices rising above that of a musical entertainment. The Prime Minister, Peel, saw him and hailed him.

Melbourne met the man halfway down the hallway. Peel was formally attired in white tie and tails, and Melbourne, aware of being covered in all the dirt of the day, merely nodded his head in an abbreviated bow.

Peel inquired about their readiness for the Tsar’s visit – he would be joining for a part of it before taking Nicolas off to address both Houses – and Melbourne assured him all would be well. He nodded, ticking off each consideration with his usual blunt efficiency, and seemed reassured. Melbourne looked at him questioningly, wanting above all to bid him good night and call for a bath and a brandy.

“Everything went off well on this end. I think he seems sincere about wanting to lay to rest any remaining difficulty from our latest dispute, and Lord knows, we don’t need any more entanglements abroad, no matter what Russell and that fire-eating brother-in-law of yours want.” Melbourne nodded vaguely, noncommittally. Peel seemed to want to ask him something else but whatever it was, he did not say it so Melbourne edged away, wishing him a good night.

“Melbourne – you _are_ going to put in an appearance –“ Peel gestured with his thumb towards the great State reception room. “- in there?”

Melbourne laughed easily. “I don’t believe I will. That is your burden to bear, now that you are Prime Minister. I have no wish to usurp you. I am no longer in Government.”

“No…er, quite. But – as the _consort_ of our Queen, it will attract no little notice and – er – speculation if you do not appear at all. Quite unusual, to say the least.”

Melbourne almost groaned audibly, cursing himself. _How could you be so stupid, and you a courtier for most of your life?_ He had been her Prime Minister, her Private Secretary, her friend, mentor, teacher and lover and had understood implicitly where his duty lay in each of those roles. How could he keep getting it so wrong now, as her _husband_?

When Melbourne entered the reception was winding down, but a respectable number of peers remained. He’d washed and shaved and dressed with as much speed as his poor valet could muster and now stood in the doorway searching for Victoria. She sat beside a man who must be the Tsar, glittering and elegant in an off-the-shoulder gown, diamonds sparkling from her ears and around her throat. Her dark hair was piled high, and the tiara she wore set off the glossy waves to perfection. At ease with another monarch, one whom she’d known from infancy and was disposed to view kindly for the affection and admiration he showed her, Victoria was at her best, vivacious, charming, her pretty face alight with pleasure. Melbourne plucked champagne from a tray, downed it, took another and straightened his back, feeling very much as if he were on his way to the headmaster’s office for a well-deserved birching.

He dipped to one knee gracefully, with the deference of his earlier role, and kissed her hand in greeting before bowing deeply to the Tsar. Victoria had introduced him simply as “My husband, the Viscount Melbourne” while the Tsar, with great courtesy, stood to greet him. The moment of his arrival passed uneventfully; a page drew up a chair and he joined the group around the Queen and her illustrious visitor. He knew everyone in the room and was aware of some sidelong glances – looking for signs of trouble in the marriage already, he knew – which he returned with the most charming of smiles. He told himself he could care less what any of them thought, except her, but it rang hollow – he knew too well the power of scandal to wound and he had no desire to contribute to its cause, even for the most innocent of reasons.

Victoria listened with great interest to his brief descriptions of what the Tsar would see on his visit to the site, and expressed her own desire to see it.

“I remember meeting Mr. Barry once, before my uncle died. He came to Kensington with a scale model of his design and explained it all in great detail, making sure I understood everything. I found him most charming and a very intelligent man.”

The evening wound down soon after, to Melbourne’s great relief. He stayed at the Queen’s side as she bid their guests good night. When they were finally alone he sighed deeply.

“You sound tired, William. You _look_ tired.”

“I am. I fear I overestimate my own stamina time and again. Not that I’m not enjoying myself – I confess I like to be occupied on a matter of at least some importance – but it is exhausting at times. Today we worked until dark planning for the Tsar’s visit.” They walked companionably toward the private wing.

“I will look in and say goodnight,” he said, kissing her forehead. “If I don’t fall asleep first.”

He was in fact sprawled out on his bed face down, stripped to the waist, when Victoria ventured in to his suite. She hesitated, and he raised his head.

“Shall I leave you to rest?” Victoria’s dulcet tone carried a whisper of shyness, one she’d not lost. She never felt quite confident in his presence, never quite his equal, which Melbourne thought as endearing as it was absurd.

“I’m not much good for anything. My back is quite protesting the day I gave it.” He reached out a hand without looking up. “But I would very much like your company if you are so inclined.”

Victoria crawled across the width of his bed on her knees. She reached out a hand and stroked his hair tenderly, then gently rubbed his neck. He sighed in satisfaction.

“If you want to learn a new skill in the bedchamber, one which every man values above all others, if they only admit it…” Melbourne’s voice was husky. She drew nearer and he told her where and how to knead his sore back muscles, encouraged her to use her small fists to release the knots caused by tension and overuse. Straddling him, Victoria alternated deep probing with long gentling strokes from his shoulders down the length of his back to past the slope of his hips. She was able to read his responses accurately and could sense the loosening of his tension as well as she could feel the gradual rhythmic movement which told of his increasing arousal. When he groaned with pleasure and rolled over she smiled her own satisfaction and lifted herself to receive him.


	23. Chapter 23

When Melbourne awakened the next morning, roused by the insistent tapping of his valet on the bedroom door, his first reaction was denial. The sky was still milky overhead, with just a hint of a pink glow in the east and he thought to send the man away for another hour. Then he remembered he must get down to the site for a final look-over before the Tsar’s visit and tour.  _Safety._  That was the variable nobody could control for. Another workmen had just been crushed the previous day, when a huge granite block suspended from pulleys came down. The 800-odd men at work on the great project were continually at risk, as were the gentry who strolled through at will with ladies on their arms, determined to have a look. If there was one thing Melbourne wished he could implement, it would be a way to secure the great tract of land. He was dismayed to learn that until the final pilings had been driven for the jetty expansion, Eton headmasters had led troops of schoolboys through the most dangerous place in the city to access their boats in the Thames. That practice at least had been halted.

All this and more ran through his mind while his eyes were still bleary from sleep. Baines tapped once more, loudly this time – more of an insistent pounding that would wake the dead, Melbourne thought – and beside him Victoria stirred. He gently tugged down her fine lace night gown for modesty’s sake and pulled the bedcovers up to her shoulder, then smoothed back tangled hair and laid a kiss on her temple. The realization came that for the first time in weeks he was not restless, not in a fever to get out of the Palace and into the world, to be doing something. On the one morning he was least able to entertain even the thought, Melbourne realized he would like nothing more than to lay back down beside his wife, visit the nursery, perhaps take a leisurely stroll through the gardens with baby in her buggy and Liam alongside while holding his wife’s hand. Even sit in on one of her briefings, those he had made every effort to avoid – out of a reticence to interfere and cast a shadow over Peel’s newly found confidence, to be sure, but also out of the unbearable chafing at his own irrelevance. It would, Melbourne conceded, be amusing to  _just_  sit in, to watch Her Majesty capably handle the affairs of state and take pride in her aptitude.

Melbourne rose with a groan and opened the door for Baines, holding a cautionary finger to his lips as he led the way to his dressing room. As any well-trained valet would, the old gentleman averted his eyes from his slumbering mistress and merely set about the business of readying His Lordship for the day ahead.

The visit went well, there were no untoward occurrences and Melbourne himself was able to answer many of the Tsar’s surprisingly technical questions while deftly handing the rest off to one of the project managers following in their wake. The Russian sovereign insisted on climbing the scaffolding for a closer look and magnanimously gestured for his host to go first. Melbourne considered it only briefly before looking to George Von Wettin. Barry’s apprentice gave a very Teutonic heel-clicking bow to the Tsar and another to Melbourne before beginning the climb with all the agility of his twenty-five years. Tipping back his head to watch, Melbourne was aware of a trace of envy.  _How fine a thing it was to be that young,_  he thought,  _able to climb to dizzying heights without giving a thought to the prospect of sudden weakness, an unsteady limb, all the infirmities of age. Would I go back if I could?_   Like most men who had seen sixty, the answer should be a resounding  _yes!_  But one thought gave him pause.  _Not if the Gods who made such a bargain required me to leave_ her  _behind in the present. And what deity could possibility guarantee the improbable set of circumstances which led me to Victoria in this life?_

Peel joined their group along with Charles Barry, chief architect and head of the great project. Peel would be taking the Tsar off to address both Houses – part of his reason for the trip – and invited Melbourne to join them. He hesitated only briefly – walking in to face his old colleagues on both sides of the aisle while in this new role, no longer one of them, nominally elevated far above them but in fact merely outside the sphere of influence, might be awkward – before agreeing.

In the end Melbourne was glad he had come. There was surprisingly little awkwardness, since Melbourne had retained only his familial title and declined any  _Royal_  designation or advancement in precedence. He sat in the spot reserved for distinguished guests rather than on either side, and that was a novel experience, providing an hitherto-unexperienced vantage point from which to survey all his former colleagues in their pouting, spiteful, enthusiastic, fully engaged glory, serving the tattered old Constitutional monarchy.

Melbourne listened to Peel’s introduction to the Lords, watched with interest as the Tsar, still a handsome man most impressive in his bemedaled uniform, spoke at length of his nation’s desire to rebuild and strengthen ties with Britain once more, a country with which his own had long-standing ties  _of friendship and affection between sovereigns as well as our peoples._  He refrained from openly attacking Britain’s imperialist adventures in the middle east, while avoiding his own nation’s ambitions and desire for a year-round warm water port in the Mediterranean and overall gave a strong impression of fraternity and cordiality while saying very little of substance.

Melbourne left him in Peel’s company to return to the Palace by late afternoon, only sending word to his secretary Tom Young of his intention, so that he was found laying on his back on the floor of the nursery when Victoria paid her daily visit.

“Lord M!” The Queen exclaimed, startled, when she drew near. “I am more accustomed to seeing Lord Cameron romping on the floor than Viscount Melbourne.” When Victoria gathered her skirts and sat on a low ottoman the ten-months-old Princess sitting atop her father reached out a hand to grasp the rope of pearls around her neck.

“Lili, must not, sweetheart,” Melbourne gently opened the little fist in an effort to divert the shiny objects headed for her mouth.

Victoria shook her head. “Elizabeth, no.” The baby only chortled and tugged harder.

“Your Highness, this is Princess Lili. Such is the name she answers to, and none other. So says Prince William.” Victoria trilled laughter at Melbourne’s serious tone. Their son stood between them, looking at his mother. “It began as  ‘Lillibet’, thus…Lili.” She immediately composed her features, charmed and touched by a father taking such pains to consider his child’s feelings worthy of respect.

Melbourne shifted the baby and rose to his feet, causing her chubby fists to finally release the pearls and clutch her father’s shirtfront instead.

“Another fine day! I wish I might have had time to get out in the air and  _do something_ ,” Victoria sighed, stepping onto the balcony overlooking the South Lawn and flower beds where gardeners worked while underemployed housemaids laughed and flirted.

Melbourne, his daughter perched on his arm, came up beside her, laying his other arm on her waist. “Should we go to Brocket Hall this weekend? You can ride there, freely, and we can take the children so Liam can run outside without a whole bevy of attendants following on his heels.”

Victoria looked up, surprised. “I would like that. If – if you would.”

“Why would I not? To have my beautiful wife all to myself?” Melbourne felt somewhat surprised at her comment, and the subtle question behind it. He wondered if he had ever given the impression that he would  _not_  savor time away with only her?

“Then yes, that would be lovely. Are you attending the ball tonight? My Lord Chancellor has arranged all, to do justice to the magnitude of having a reigning monarch visit us. It will be especially grand, I think.”

“Am I? I assume so, ma’am. Unless you have another, more preferred escort in mind? Your Baron Cameron perhaps? Or the handsome Russian? I believe you found his son quite attractive the last time he visited us.” Victoria’s smile flickered into view briefly at his teasing tone. “Which only makes me more determined to attend and protect what’s mine.”

The attendance of a crowned head of state precluded all lesser nobility skirmishing over precedence; Tsar Nicolas, a trim man still very handsome in his middle years, led Victoria into the great assembly room and opened the ball with her. Melbourne was pleased enough to avoid the usual ticklish subject of which Duke or Royal prince would claim the right to offer their arm to his wife. He himself cared little but he knew how readily Victoria took offense at anything she perceived as an insult to her husband. As it was, he took a glass of champagne and leaned against a pillar quite content to admire the figure she cut, dazzling in her pale mint gown, alive with gold embroidered leaves and flowers, looking, he thought, like a pagan goddess of summer. She wore no tiara, but rather a crown of creamy blossoms sent from his gardens at Brocket Hall. Around her neck was an ingeniously wrought necklace of worked gold filigree meant to simulate flowers in bloom, emeralds accenting the leaves and diamonds glistening in the center of each blossom.

When Victoria left the floor her partner escorted her to the dais where gilt chairs had been placed. Tsar Nicolas took a seat on her right and Melbourne strolled slowly in her direction, determined to overcome his aversion to anything suggesting pretension. Climbing the single step to the dais, he leaned over her shoulder to murmur a compliment. She looked up at him, eyes shining with pleasure, cheeks flushed from dancing. With a show of casual unconcern Melbourne took the chair to her left.

“You don’t look at all  _royal_ , my Lord. Only like the most handsome  _Viscount_  in the room and the one your Queen has chosen for her companion.” Melbourne smiled at her flirtatious tone.

“Will Your Majesty honor me with a waltz then?”

Victoria showed her surprise.  “I thought you did not wish to dance. I had planned to enjoy the rest of the evening from these comfortable  _chairs_. You will notice, we do not have  _thrones._ ”

“I think I might like to lead the most beautiful girl here onto the floor for one dance. If you will have patience with an old, lame partner.”

“I would, but I see no such partner. Only you, Lord M. You are the only one I wish to dance with tonight.”

Melbourne beckoned a page over and took champagne, handing a glass to Victoria. He knew he looked well enough in his new coat, molded to his shape by an expert tailor, but also accepted that there were many younger, more agile men to partner Victoria. She loved dancing and he would not have her miss it to sit at his side.

He commented on the dancers, irreverent observations spiced with historical gossip that amused Victoria and to the most cynical observers the bond between them seemed as inviolable as ever. Most of the guests had been present at Court long enough to remember their eighteen year old girl-Queen looking up at her Prime Minister just so at the Coronation Ball, remembered seeing the senior statesman looking at her with the same expression of almost-bemused adoration.

Victoria chose to decline all offers for the faster dances, the polkas and country reels. She stood up with her husband for the second waltz and his leg did not betray him, so that he was able to lead her around the floor with his customary grace. When they were done he bowed deeply over her hand before leading her off the floor, and a dozen ladies sighed in unison at the sight of the devastatingly handsome, debonair Lord Melbourne.

When she accepted a partner for one final waltz Melbourne made his way around the perimeter of the room and came up behind Emma Portman. Together they sipped champagne and watched the dancers.

“How goes it, William?” She said in a low voice. “Is marriage agreeing with you?”

“Does marriage truly agree with anyone, Emma? It is not a natural state, I think, nor an easy one. But we manage. Oh yes….we manage.” She looked at him crossly, annoyed by his unmanly sigh. Of bliss, she thought, or at least the most annoyingly  _satisfied_  sound imaginable.

“Seriously. There are no difficulties? Some of us who serve the Queen have noticed you absent a great deal. And I heard a rumor – not widely disseminated, so far – that  _La Norton_  visits you in South Street.”

Melbourne’s lazy posture suddenly stiffened and he drew himself up to his full height.

“I hope I can depend on you to scotch such damned rumors, Emma!”

“So it is not true? As it is not true she smuggled herself into the palace right under the Queen’s nose?” Lady Portman looked at him squarely. Melbourne, resigned, found he could not lie outright to this old friend who had only his interests at heart.

“She did come into the palace. The Queen knows.”

“And South Street?” Lady Portman prodded.

Melbourne sighed, an entirely different sound this time. “And South Street, once. It won’t be repeated. She is leaving the country for a spell. Norton allows her to take the boys abroad.”

“I’m surprised he agreed. To allowing them out of the country and to subsidizing her travel.” Emma arched a brow, intent on conveying her skepticism. She looked closely at his face and gasped. “You didn’t! William, tell me you didn't intervene on her behalf with Norton? That you aren’t supporting that creature?”

Melbourne shrugged helplessly. “I had to do something to appease her. She is quite determined to make trouble, although she doesn’t see it that way. In her view, the Queen took something she valued and she is determined to get it back.”

“You being the  _something_  of course. And it doesn’t displease you, not entirely. It makes you feel  _valued_?  _Desired_? _Validated_ somehow, in a way that marrying the Queen of England, a young woman who adores you, does not _?_ ” Melbourne felt suddenly irked both at her tone and the tight mocking smile on her lips.

“Of  _course_  it displeases me. We had a pleasant friendship and I quite looked forward to her company. Now I dread hearing her name and seeing her hand on a letter. There is nothing that pleases me about her jealous obsession.”

“Well, the way to be rid of it is not to see her privately and then pay her a pension. You gave her currency? No, not a draft on your bank? William, for God’s sake, that in itself is evidence of  _something_  untoward. And the Queen knows? No. She does not. Because you didn’t want to upset her.” Lady Portman set down her empty champagne glass with enough force to startle the page holding the tray. She shook her head once sharply and walked away, leaving him to look after her.

The rest of the ball passed uneventfully, Melbourne pacing the edge of the room like a sleek cat, restless once more and unwilling to let down his guard, watchful for any sly looks, any whispered remarks which might prove Emma’s warning. Once or twice he caught Victoria’s eye and managed a reassuring glance, confirming that wordless connection between them.

Melbourne had no desire to be anywhere other than his wife’s bedroom that night. He wanted to push away all thought of Emma’s open concern -  _or was it contempt?_  he wondered – and wrap himself in the security of Victoria’s affection. He craved the reassurance of Victoria’s presence the way she normally craved his, wanting to watch the small intimate tasks of her undressing, to brush her hair for her and feel her small cold feet pressed against his legs under the covers. He wanted to hold her in the refuge of that great State bed, in their sanctuary, and talk about their day, politics, the ball, make a plan for that weekend at Brocket Hall, the stuff of ordinary end-of-day marital conversations he’d never thought to share with his foolish, impossible autumn love. He thought of baby Elizabeth’s birthday celebration, coming up in a few short weeks.  _Perhaps they could have an outdoor entertainment, invite other small children, set up a fair on the grounds which mimicked that of Windsor Village…_

As soon as his valet helped him out of his coat and disposed of his vest and cravat Melbourne slipped on his old familiar dressing gown and ventured into Victoria’s bedchamber. Her maid no longer blushed and giggled at his arrival, merely bobbed the slightest of curtsies and continued about her business. He leaned against the doorjamb enjoying the small rituals of a lady’s toilette – his  _wife’s_  toilette, came the mental correction – and appreciated when she responded to his scrutiny by small changes in her posture, the way she held her shoulders just so to push out her breasts above the tight stays, arched her back in its most appealing angle. As he continued to stare he couldn’t help his own response.

“You may leave us, Miss Skerrett,” he said softly to the dresser. The girl, blushing herself now, acknowledged her dismissal and scurried from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Still Melbourne didn’t move from his place by the doorway, just watching, playfully prolonging the very pleasant tension. Then he moved behind her, so closely that electricity seemed to jump between them, closing the small gap, the magnetism of two perfectly suited bodies in close proximity. Victoria stood and turned into his embrace and he held her tightly, willing the world to leave them in peace.


	24. Chapter 24

Melbourne, hands laced behind his back, stood at the rear of a temporary chamber in Westminster Hall. He’d cajoled and convinced the overworked and overwhelmed project head, chief architect Charles Barry, to make one more address to the Arts Commission and those gentlemen from the Department of Woods and Forests who held final authority. Barry had been called to account repeatedly, both to explain legitimate issues – significant delays, substantive changes to the approved plans without authority – and to hear and respond to the differences of opinion and taste of nearly every member of both Houses.

On this occasion it was Melbourne’s hope that if Barry gave one joint appearance and gained the vocal public support of Peel and the Queen herself, it would put a period to the constant drain on the man’s time and patience from politicians who fancied their personal taste and amateur understanding, combined with the power of the purse, should dictate the course of this great undertaking.

While not precisely within his mandate, Melbourne had become the _de facto_ mediator between Barry, his colleague, Augustus Pugin and all those who sought to interject their own brand of oversight. At present Barry, not nearly as histrionic as Pugin, was nonetheless at the end of his rope and had demanded this hearing to resolve the issue of interference, as he saw it, and his high-handedness, as Members of both Houses viewed it. Melbourne, as reluctant as he was to forcibly intercede, fundamentally agreed with Mr. Barry that an undertaking as great as this must proceed under the undivided responsibility of the chief architect.

More properly his bailiwick the design elements, were to pass under the Queen’s review as well. Augustus Pugin, overseeing interior and finishing, had assembled sample works by some of the artists whose work he proposed, so that after this hearing they would process to the cartoons, frescoes and sculpture on display in the greater Hall.

Shortly before nine he waited, soothing Barry’s frayed temper and Pugin’s frazzled nerves, awaiting Her Majesty’s arrival.

At times like this Melbourne slipped easily back into his former mindset, a loyal Minister to the Queen and representative of her Government, and was able to set aside their more intimate roles. As he waited he reflected that the duality was rather enjoyable, so that they discovered each other anew when they broke out of their public roles. A flurry of activity and many footfalls in the rotunda alerted him to her arrival, escorted by Prime Minister Peel and attended by a small retinue of equerries and attendants. Her diminutive figure was instantly recognizable to any of her subjects, her aura of majesty unmistakable. Melbourne was able to admire the figure she cut, petite but carrying herself with such dignity she appeared much taller, even formidable. Those beautiful features which he knew better than his own were composed in a smooth, remote mask of royal hauteur. When Victoria briefly glanced in his direction Melbourne permitted himself to meet her gaze and the warmth of his own, the merest twitch at the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile, momentarily softened her expression. So it had always been, since their earliest days together, this unspoken understanding between them. Seeing the light in her eyes, her own lips curving slightly, thrilled him. _Me, she looks like that for_ me _alone_.

Peel escorted her to the chair reserved for her and nodded to Melbourne to begin the proceedings. He’d not wanted it to be overly formal but the simple act of gathering so many contentious, overblown egos in one space necessitated some order to avoid chaos.

Peel and Lord Lincoln, Head of the Department of Woods and Forests, were already staunch supporters. Melbourne had smoothed Barry’s defensiveness and advised him to drown them in deferential while saying very little that could be used to attack him later.

The visit of Tsar Nicolas had greatly enhanced Barry’s prestige with the general population. The Tsar himself was a great hit with Londoners, and his appreciation for Barry’s design extended to commissioning watercolors of the new Parliament buildings for display in St. Petersburg. That and the general orderliness of the worksite and ingenuity employed in the project had earned Barry the acclaim abroad he was denied at home.

Victoria often complained that she had never seen Melbourne on the floor of the House, address the Members or even chair one of the innumerable committees that had fallen under his jurisdiction so when Melbourne proposed this public hearing she eagerly agreed to attend. Melbourne knew that she would give her stamp of approval relying only on his recommendation. As the Crown’s representative he had the right – the duty – to provide his opinion but he encouraged her to listen and pose any questions she had before reaching her own conclusions.

Those members of the Commons in attendance pressed, as predicted, for a final completion date irrespective of the myriad contingencies which made such a commitment impossible to provide. While several pointed questions hinted at mild censure to come – the fact that Barry had suspended all work on his own order, had halted all supply deliveries – overall the tone was much less severe than it could have been. Finally they were satisfied with Barry’s promise that at least the main chambers would be done in time for the Queen’s use in 1846, two years hence. The rest of the questions were anticlimactic. The sovereign’s presence helpfully subdued much of the usual posturing and prosing.

Melbourne paced about, calling on one and then another of the Members to ask their questions, then looked to Barry for a suitably vague answer. They were more interested in being heard asking the question than in hearing the answers anyway, he knew, so he was able to move things along speedily.

Even as he did his best to attend fully to the matters at hand Melbourne was aware of Victoria’s gaze more often resting on him than on Barry or any of her Ministers. He wanted to remain impassive but seeing her soft expression, the tingle of connection when their eyes met, he acknowledged her silently. They could readily communicate without words, without any outward expression, and it had always been so. Melbourne knew he should later remind her to guard her expression more closely, because any man present would recognize the face of a woman in love.  He also knew he would not have the heart to do so. _What man alive could chastise a woman for loving him so that she revealed it too openly?_

When he sensed the mood of the assembly losing its edge he determined it was time to bring the thing to a close. He swept a bow to the Queen, turned to the Prime Minister and thanked them all for attending. Peel rose and walked to the Queen for consultation. Seemingly satisfied, both Peel and Lord Lincoln flanked her when she rose to address the room.

“Lord Melbourne, Lord Lincoln, Prime Minister, We thank you for your service in this great matter. Mr. Barry, the Crown wishes to commend you for the effort you have expended thus far. We pray you continue with this great work on Our behalf. Lord Melbourne represents the Crown interests on this Commission as Lord Lincoln does the Government. They have faithfully apprised us of the progress made as well as the inevitable difficulties encountered. We place our full trust in Lord Melbourne to continue oversight on Our behalf, and according to his recommendation, in agreement with that of our Chief Minister and Lord Lincoln, We wish to express our satisfaction with the progress to date and the future work as described here today.”

That was it, Melbourne thought with satisfaction. He looked quickly to Barry to see if he and his partner understood they had received the mandate they needed to continue.

Pugin took the floor, inviting them all to adjourn to view the artistic displays he had assembled. Melbourne hesitated briefly, looking to Peel, before joining them. Victoria observed protocol by walking with Sir Robert while Melbourne and Lincoln followed behind.

After Peel handed her into the carriage Victoria gave him her hand prettily, then looked to her husband, still standing behind the premier. “Lord Melbourne, will you please ride with me?” She smiled prettily at Peel and slid over to make room for her husband.

“William,” Victoria said when as the carriage was underway. “I would like to ask you something.” Melbourne tilted his head and smiled quizically, wondering to himself why such a statement always sounded a peal of dread.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Victoria took a deep breath, as though gathering herself for an unpleasant task. “I would like you to have a seat on the Privy Council.”

Melbourne exhaled a snort of relieved laughter. “Is that all? I feared something worse was coming.”  Victoria’s eyes flashed in surprise.

“So you’ll do it? I feared you would very much dislike it.”

“It’s not possible, Victoria. I am no longer in government. I am not a Minister and I do not take my seat in the Lords since our marriage. I am a member of no party.”

“You are my husband. Albert had a seat on the Council.”

“Albert was a royal prince, ma’am. And, I believe, his seat caused a great deal of dissension when it was announced. I have no desire to reawaken the animosity of those who disapproved of our marriage.”

“’Royal prince’! He was the younger son of a duke from a country smaller than our boroughs. And it was Uncle Leopold who pressed for him to have a seat, through his emissary Stockmar. For _their_ purposes. I didn’t object because I preferred Leopold’s attention be elsewhere.”

“A good reason to avoid giving me a seat now. I fear your Uncle Leopold will renew his attempts to stir things up against me if I put myself forward that way. If not him, I have plenty of those who would like nothing better. We’ve gotten off lucky so far, and I would like to keep it that way.”

Victoria frowned at him, and Melbourne did not miss the sudden sharpening of her attention.

“Do you have so many skeletons left in your closet then, William? I thought everything that could be aired already has been.” The smile he showed her was twisted and slightly bitter.

“Ma’am, there is always something left to be said for those who wish to make trouble. And a mere Viscount who has already climbed too high would be a prime target.”

Victoria sighed. “I don’t wish to argue about it. Will you please just think about it? Lord M, I do not offer this as some sort of… _bribe_ , or show of favor, or even to exert my perogative to have my husband sit on my council. I want you to do this so all your years of experience, the great steadiness you brought to our government during a time of upheaval and social change, do not now go to waste. I ask you because it’s good for the _country_ that you use your talents,” she hesitated, then, in a much softer, less assured voice. “if you wouldn’t entirely dislike it, that is. No matter what anyone says, _you_ know how much you’ve done to keep things running smoothly all your years in government. I read one day’s minutes in the Houses and get a headache. You listened to all those strong words, strong _personalities_ , for years and managed to reconcile them all and gain some sort of cooperation.”

Melbourne picked up her hand and kissed it, one finger at a time. He knew himself to look bemused, puzzled even, as though he didn’t quite understand her words. Finally, he tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. “You have always thought far too highly of me, more than I deserve.”

“You allowed others to take credit for things you have done, so if you are underestimated by history it will only be due your own reticence. _I_  know what an exceptionally talented man you are. Those who count – my late Uncle the King, Wellington, even Peel, those of your contemporaries who worked closely with you whether they agreed with you or not – they know.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I am honored. And thank you, my dear wife. I’ll think about it. If I felt I could genuinely make some sort of contribution…councilor at large perhaps, like Arthur Wellesley…” he let his words trail off.

“Remember when I was negotiating your marriage contract? I warned you then that Stockmar’s suggestion to create Albert King Consort would not be advisable.”

“You said that if the people get in the way of making kings, they might get into the way of unmaking them.”

“True, but not the only reason. When Albert was an unknown quantity and I based my assessment of his character only on his father, your uncle King Leopold and our overly ambitious Baron Stockmar, I was concerned that he – and through him, they – would overshadow you. A Queen, a married Queen, is a difficult concept for some people to accept. There are those who will always look to the man in the room, even when he stands behind the Sovereign. I always took care that didn’t happen with me. Especially because of my long history in government, my former role as your Prime Minister, there are those who – whether they like me or not – would look to me when they should be looking to you. Because of my experience, because of my age, but mostly because I am a man.”

Victoria considered his words carefully. “But you never did that. Since the very first day we met, you never attempted to rule me, to dictate to me, even to merely influence me. It’s always been you advising me to consider all sides of an issue before I make up my mind. When I was steadfast against working with Tories, you who – well, _you_ know you would never overshadow me. And,” she rolled her eyes and twisted her lips into a crooked smile. “I am not necessarily the most docile creature when it comes to my prerogative. Or anything much else that I feel strongly about. As _you_ can attest.”

“’If I want your advice, I shall ask for it,’” Melbourne laughed softly. “Yes. And I admired you for it. Very well, we will talk more about this with Sir Robert and get his opinion at least. And then, of course, you will make up your mind.” He tucked her small hand in his and felt Victoria lean her head against his shoulder. As they rode on he thought how easily, how seamlessly, she could now juxtapose her destiny as sovereign, her natural imperiousness and burgeoning understanding of her role in a constitutional monarchy, with the natural, loving girl growing more confident of herself as woman and wife. _If I’ve achieved nothing else worthwhile in my entire life, I’ve helped form this remarkable young woman_ _into a great Queen_ , Melbourne thought, and it filled him with warmth.

When the carriage reached Buckingham House Melbourne helped her out and bowed over her hand. “I have business in town, ma’am. I will return tonight.” He paused, looked at her searchingly. “With your permission?”

“As your Queen, or as your wife?” Victoria asked, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. Melbourne cupped her cheeks in his hands and looked down at her open, innocent, infinitely precious face. Then he kissed her and quickly climbed back into the carriage. 

* * *

 

He hadn’t been back to the house at 39 South Street for days and Tom Young’s sole occupancy showed in the clutter, stale tobacco smoke and sundry articles left about which documented his extracurricular activities. Tom had served Melbourne as a secretary and general factotum for over a decade. Useful as he was, Tom had no polish and no pretension – he was a lower middle class boy who’d made his way in the world by wit and grit and for good reason Melbourne had never even considered presenting him to the Queen. Tom was privy to a good many of those skeletons Victoria had so blithely mentioned.

Many of those were no more than any man of his years accumulated over time and living. There were things well outside the province of any wife, any lady of quality, royal or not. Melbourne knew and accepted as a matter of course that there were a great many things his sweet girl would not understand and he had no intention of abusing her innocence.

He didn’t include his renewed correspondence with Caroline Norton in that category although he acknowledged Victoria would not be pleased if she knew.  Their contact now was quite innocent. Melbourne had absolutely no desire to stir up the obsessiveness of a volatile, dangerous woman; he told himself that he needed to both remain aware of any renewal of her hostility and pacify her by the exchange of banal letters. Ignoring her effort to re-calibrate after the past few years would only run the risk of reawakening that ire.

The content of his own letters was no different than that he would write to his own sister, news of mutual acquaintances, gossipy exchanges about _on dits_ , harmless descriptions of his days. In her letters, Caroline maintained propriety although her casually intimate tone was a constant reminder of what had once been between them. She vividly described, in most amusing detail, the people she met in Rome and Florence, her traveling companions and the doings of her two remaining sons. While Melbourne instantly shut down any intimation that he should have any special interest in her middle boy Brin, he knew she was trying when she included breezy questions about the royal children. Somehow they had progressed to an unspoken but very clear acknowledgement that the children were his and Melbourne took some pride in being able to describe Lili’s new attempts to stand, Liam’s very precocious intellect.

All in all, Melbourne reflected, it seemed the worst had passed and he could take for granted their longstanding friendship once more. Caroline Norton was, after all, a most exciting, vibrant personality and a connection he would have been reluctant to sever. He sat at his desk and began to write.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They dictate. I only transcribe what they need me to write. I love these two so much!

When I awoke that morning, the day before baby Elizabeth’s first birthday, I was immediately aware of my own comfort and contentment. How often are we mortals given that opportunity to recognize as it’s happening perfect happiness? I find that most often happiness can be better recollected in tranquility.

The comfort of sharing a bed with one’s much-loved intimate companion can not be overestimated. That is not an opinion shared by most of my generation, who would not dream of surrendering their separate suites. I can only pity any man not knowing the illimitable physical satisfaction of simply sleeping beside a lover. When I draw on her warmth, that life I can feel coursing through the veins of my young wife even at rest, the sensation brings with it all the lost security of childhood. And of course there are other, more adult pleasures to be had in the spontaneity of the moment.

I leaned over her, I’m sure I did– as I so often do – to study that sweet face in repose, the rounded cheek, still so like a child, that unexpectedly sharp elegant jawline, pert little nose. To kiss her gently, perhaps to run a finger ever so lightly down her profile. My girl, my darling precious girl. Victoria.

We often attribute prescience in hindsight. I make no such claim. I’m sure we rose and went about our business, coming together just often enough to exchange the hidden smiles and secret looks which sustained us.

The fête had grown to gigantic proportions, a village fair to take place in Windsor Park in celebration of our daughter’s first birthday. Lili of course was too young to comprehend, but her brother was already delighting in the preparations afoot, the workers assembling temporary stands which would hold fair foods, fortunes and games of chance, a great tent for dining and all sorts of oddities on display.

King Leopold and his nephew, now the reigning Grand Duke, had arrived late the night before with their wives. The King and his ever-present adviser, Baron Stockmar, wasted no time in closeting themselves with the Queen so that by the time I entered the morning room in search of coffee and sustenance only the Duchess of Kent was on hand to greet me, flanked by her daughter and the German brides. Leopold had married rather above himself once again; his second wife was the younger daughter of King Louis-Phillipe. I recall being amused at the man’s determination to spread his tentacles across every throne in Europe.

I’d had no intention of venturing into town that day. I’d devoted most of the summer to pacifying the various parties engaged in building our new Houses of Parliament, and had recently added a seat on the Privy Council to my portfolio. The latter was at the Queen’s insistence and I had been initially reluctant to accept but after weighing the offer and discussing it at length with those men whose impartiality I trusted, I had taken my seat.

When I most painstakingly replay the events of that day it seems the first inkling of trouble arose during my regular morning visit to the nurseries. Liam greeted me with his usual enthusiasm and I had no more lifted him high in the air than our chief governess, Baroness Lehzen, required his attendance at a pianoforte lesson. The Baroness had never been a demonstrative woman – Albert had jokingly referred to her as the Dragon of the Queen’s Household – but we had developed a mutual respect over the years, based on our devotion to the Queen and these children she tacitly acknowledged as mine. When I set Liam down with an admonition to mind the Baroness and turned to my attention to the baby, the Baroness once more interceded, snapping direction to one of her underlings to remove Elizabeth. I was a bit surprised – even during the Queen’s marriage my right of access was never interfered with – and scooped up my daughter before the maid could reach her. Elizabeth was as much of a delight as always, this tiny fairy princess with the indomitable will. Lili  was her mother in miniature except for my head of unruly curls. In her case they defied all attempts to restrain them with ribbons, clips and bonnets and now tumbled past her shoulders in a shiny unkempt mane. I pressed her cheek to mine and felt those  chubby little hands stroke my face.

“Surely whatever it is can wait,” I must have protested to Lehzen, walking about in circles with my daughter as she pursued us to take her charge. Nonetheless I eventually surrendered her to the Baroness and was startled by the briefest glimpse of something like a wince of pain before she turned away.

Leopold sent for me mid-morning. The man was just autocratic enough to think he could summon the Queen’s husband like a lackey, I’d thought, but let it go with a shrug. I had never been one to stand on my dignity. Such things scarcely seemed worth the fight.

The King of the Belgians had taken possession of the more public of our libraries at Windsor, the one where the Queen met with those ministers she did not wish to receive in her personal office. He stood behind the big mahogany desk staring pensively out the window, not turning around when I entered. Stockmar was seated to one side, his gaze fixed on his master, and did not rise to greet me as simple etiquette would require. Silence filled the room after the greeting I extended went unreciprocated. For several long minutes only the ticking of the clock could be heard as I stared at his back in its Hussar-inspired State uniform.

“Lord Melbourne,” Leopold finally said, turning. I was rather shocked at his appearance. Leopold the master strategist and schemer was an old familiar entity, and for so long I’d loathed the very sight of his supercilious expression when he quite literally looked down his nose at me. More recently, after Albert’s death, he’d unbent just enough to persuade me he might accept my presence in his niece’s life. Now, though, despite the toupee and his dandified air, Leopold suddenly looked every bit his age and his expression was…pained.

“I must discuss a most difficult matter with you.” Leopold paused so long in his ponderous delivery that I wrongly suspected his mind to be wandering. “Queen Christina, the mother of the Spanish Queen Isabella. She is living in Paris now and frequently entertains. Everyone who is anyone attends. It is a hotbed of intrigue.” With painstaking slowness the man began turning over papers – letters, I thought – on the desktop until he came to the one he sought. As he looked at it, that long narrow face grimaced with distaste and he handed it off to Stockmar.

Baron Stockmar’s nasal, finicky schoolmaster’s tones read from a letter Spain’s exiled Queen Mother had written to Leopold’s Queen, talking in tones of faux concern for the well-being of their royal niece. I heard convoluted references to scandal, with ridicule fast on its heels, and the sympathy she extended for one whose husband – whose elderly, baseborn rake of a husband – had so soon strayed, keeping a mistress who was dining out all over Europe on her stories. Christina named names of those who had likewise heard, not rumors, but accepted truth, for it came directly from one of the concerned parties, and the one most liable to lose her reputation in the telling. Salacious, distorted, essentially untrue but undeniable all the same.

“It is a dangerous game you played. Could you really hope that this game could be played with security with a person who has the means of looking into your cards, whom you yourself described to me some years ago as a most passionate, giddy, imprudent and dangerous woman?  Yet you –“ he slapped his hand down on a thick sheaf of letters, the handwriting of which was unmistakably mine. “-you correspond with her, you set her up on an allowance, you discuss the Heir Apparent, my niece’s children, the doings of my niece’s household, in the same letters you respond to her flirtations and intimate tone. And as she despises my niece she uses it to secure her own reputation as the woman who can steal the husband of a Queen.”

The King of the Belgians was genuinely outraged, I could see past the nausea growing in the pit of my stomach. My letters to Caroline Norton. I had to know – “How did you get those?” I choked out the words, my voice hoarse, and realized as soon as I spoke how guilty I sounded already.

“Does it matter? She gave them up to my agent. The woman has her price and she was assured that in the end, we share a common goal. She has returned to London and awaits you. Of course divorce is impossible and any public scandal serves no one. But so long as you conduct yourself with discretion I have assured her she can claim her prize.”

Etiquette, the lifelong drilling in decorum and the manners expected of a gentleman were all that saved me, kept my spine straight and my expression implacable. I certainly didn’t feel capable of any measure of control then. Did he think to dismiss me out of hand?

“That’s impossible and I think you know it. Any open estrangement would cause more scandal, humiliate Her Majesty more than silencing that woman and allowing things to go on as they were.” My stomach was churning. All I could concentrate on then was how desperately I needed to see Victoria, how desperately she must need me. It did occur to me how hypocritical was Leopold’s outrage. Hadn’t he too carried on for years with Caroline Norton? As if reading my thoughts, the King’s mouth tightened in a distasteful smile. “Yes, it is true, I have my own connection to your Mrs. Norton. But unlike you I never trusted her. I value her for exactly what she is, a whore and an opportunist and a tool to be used. You were foolish enough to think she was more.”

I heard his voice warning me away from Victoria. I was expected to leave immediately for my South Street house and return tomorrow, to present a smiling united front at Elizabeth’s birthday celebration. My Elizabeth, my daughter, the daughter I had so longed for. One of the children I was expected to relinquish all claim to. _Of course_ , the thought came grimly, _you have no claim to relinquish. The children are Albert’s, born during his marriage to Victoria. Surely she wouldn’t be that cruel, to me or to them? Once her initial anger faded?_

Of course I tried to see her. As soon as I stalked out of Leopold’s presence I went to the Queen’s apartments, intending – what? To confront her before the entire Household? To drag her off as one would an ordinary woman? I knew I could not do so. To humiliate her publicly in such a way would be unforgivable. One more unforgivable action, and that one at least I could prevent.

I don’t remember much else about that day. As soon as I flung myself into my lodgings I rudely dismissed Tom, growled at what servants were about and shut myself up in my room with a bottle.

The next morning when I arrived at the Palace I was taken – escorted, in a palace to which I’d had free access since William IV was on the throne – to Her Majesty. Victoria did not spare me a glance as she discussed final points of the day’s activities with her ladies. Emma Portman was one of them. If my old friend was aware of anything untoward I do not know; I avoided her as studiously as the Queen avoided me.

Only when we all processed onto the lawns in a group did she acknowledge me at all, and then only by the merest passing glance. Victoria was so pretty that day in a light summer frock, the ribbons of her bonnet tied in a big bow. She held Liam’s hand while a nurse pushed Lili’s pram. I stayed as close by Victoria’s side as I was able that day, and not once was I able to hold my wife’s hand or touch her. I smiled and made small talk with the parents who had brought children and grandchildren to whoop and race about, weaving in between the long legs of stilt walkers, admire the jugglers’ dexterity and shriek with glee at the clowns. My sister was there, surrounded by daughters, sons and grandchildren, and thankfully was too preoccupied to spare me a word. When the silence grew oppressive I attempted to direct a few light comments to Victoria. Her monosyllabic response was delivered in a cool tone, with less warmth than she used for the boy leading ponies around a ring.

Cameron briefly joined us, my niece Fanny on his arm. That young lady promptly let go and bobbed a curtsy to her mistress meant to include me. I wanted to reassure her that I was the last person to whom she owed any explanation for the company she kept. As he had done so often before, the big Irishman surprised me with his perspicacity. I saw his gaze travel from Victoria to me several times, but of course he said nothing, only swinging Liam up on his shoulders to ride as he strolled alongside us. Victoria paid him no more notice than she did me, only concentrating her attention on the children and those guests who stopped to address her. By the end of that day I was eager to be gone, only to spare myself and her the ordeal of each other’s company.

When I left that evening the rage brewing in me was ready to bubble over and I knew exactly where I was going.

As if my sudden appearance was nothing but a pleasant surprise, Caroline Norton came forward to greet me with warm enthusiasm, even absurdly presenting her cheek for a kiss. I had to ball my fists and put them behind my back to avoid striking her full force. All I could think to do once in her presence was demand “Why? Why, Caroline?” Still she kept coming, determined to embrace me and then I did raise my hand. Instead of dissuading her, I saw her expression change to one of lascivious glee as she thrust her hips against me.

“Will you birch me then, William? Very well, you know I can take it and give you back what you’ve missed.” When the full force of her meaning took me, the memories she so clearly intended to relive, I was disgusted with myself for responding. I loathed her as much as I did myself, and I shoved her away so brutally she was flung against the mantle behind her. Once more she came forward and I saw what she’d picked up. I curled my lip in disgust.. I spun on my heel and left her, careless of the passersby who saw me storm out of her house.

No sooner had I reached my own residence in the blackest of all possible moods, than I was met on the stoop by a messenger holding out a scrap of paper. Had she sent for me? Was she at least willing to see me, to talk? The lines scrawled there were not from Victoria, although they summoned me back to the palace. The messenger was a very young subaltern, I assumed part of the Household Cavalry, although he wore only country clothing and no red jacket. He was uninformed and I had no wish to press him for information.

We traveled the private drive to that entrance Von Wettin had once carved out so that Albert and his guests could come and go at will. Those apartments, so far as I knew, were empty now, just as he had left him. Some few of his old companions presumably still occupied rooms there, but otherwise the space had been untouched.

Cameron’s small suite of rooms was in that wing, then. I hadn’t known, or bothered to discover, where he was quartered when he stayed with the Household for extended periods. His note had told me to come in directly I arrived.

These small grace and favor apartments had been remade for Albert’s young men, those male companions he was close enough to that he wanted them nearby. Cameron of course had not been one of those, but his brother was, so presumably that was how he came by his rooms. These consisted of a small drawing room and an inner bedchamber. When I stepped in to the one he’d designated it was dark, no candles lit and the windows covered. I thought for a moment I’d made a mistake and cursed his unreliable direction, until I heard voices coming from the inner room.

Cameron leaned against a bureau, his long hair disheveled as it always was, his shirt halfway unbuttoned. Before him on his bed was my wife.

Victoria wore her hair loose and in the dim light I could see her silk wrapper, as familiar as my own, the one she had worn when she came to me in the night, escorted only by her maid.

I froze in place seeing the tableau. No, I thought, I knew this scene all too well, and it was not one I could bear living through again. Not with her, my darling girl. I’d turned to leave without making a sound, so I thought. Cameron’s head jerked up sharply when he saw my movement.

“Lord Melbourne!” He called to me. “Please, come in.”

Victoria turned in my direction, her expression a near-comical mix of defiance and dismay with, incongruously, a look of disappointment directed at the man with her.

“Her Majesty was thinking to visit her late husband’s apartments and got turned around so came here until you could join her.” So that, then, is the excuse we would all use, I thought. I was grateful for at least saving us all face, particularly Victoria. I understood tolerably well what had occurred and was not persuaded otherwise by the tangled sheets or my wife’s _dishabille_. This was my Victoria and I knew her too well.

“I came to see you, Lord Cameron!” She protested thickly.

“Yes, ma’am, you wish me to show you your husband’s apartment. But I think it best that we visit in daylight. You will be better able to see.” Cameron looked at me for help.

“Victoria, let me take you back to your apartment,” I said softly, coaxingly. She rose to her feet, swaying, and lurched into Cameron. As her arms went around him I’m sure I blanched visibly, a look he saw as he was untwining her arms. She put up little resistance as I got her turned around and steadied.

“Thank you,” I managed, as I put my arm around her waist and steered her out.

“Lord Melbourne – we spoke of Albert and some of the more memorable evenings he hosted. From the time she arrived until you did. Her Majesty was…confused.”

Victoria marched along beside me, down the long corridors and up the stairs leading to her – our – apartments. Once inside she flung off my arm.

“I intend to take Lord Cameron as a lover!” My adorably fierce little wife announced, the look on her face much more pugilist than passionate. Her fists were clenched and I wanted badly to pick one up and kiss it.

“If that is your intent, ma’am, then I am sure you will achieve it. Only, not tonight perhaps.”

“Why not tonight? I will go to his bed if I choose.”

“I think, ma’am, that such undertakings are best accomplished when one has a clear head.”

She proceeded to fling invective at me, elaborating in great detail the gentlemen she would take as her lovers, a fair assessment of their supposed attributes and the various acts and exercises she would engage in. I admit she drew blood – few husbands would relish hearing of the relative merits of prospective lovers - but even at her worst she struck no mortal blow. My sweet girl, as enraged as she was, could not bring herself to cut me directly. For that I was grateful. I had been so long accustomed to her loving admiration that hearing her assess my failings as accurately as I deserve would have wounded me to the core.

I only listened, and watched her as solemnly as I could manage until she wound down. “Why did you appear when you did? I had almost convinced him.” I permitted the merest trace of a smile to reveal itself.

“I would have done it, I would have. I was prepared to go through with it.” As I’d suspected, Cameron was too much a lady’s man – and too much in love with my wife – to take advantage of Victoria in her distress. Nor could it have been entirely flattering to his manly ego to be faced with such grim determination in place of desire.

She swayed in front of me, and I knew by then her head would be swimming, her stomach ready to revolt. My wife was no heavy drinker and did not well tolerate the effects of alcohol. I caught her in time and carried her into her bedchamber. When I stood her on her feet her hand clutched my shirt for balance, even as her brows came together in a fierce scowl.

“I do not want you. Go away!” Victoria spluttered, trying futilely to push me away even as her hand still clutched me tightly. Under her silk wrapper she had on only her corset and stockings, teetering on high dress shoes. _Had she chosen her wardrobe for its seductive appeal?  Or  merely undressed without the help of her maid?_ I suspected the latter, although her costume was certainly effective. Even now I felt myself respond to the sight of breasts pushed up, stockings ending at mid-thigh and that dark downy triangle just peeking out. I pushed such thoughts away, unlacing her stays and slipping a nightgown over her head. Suddenly obedient as a child, Victoria allowed me to pull back the bed covers and then she lay down. I averted my eyes from the sight of her nakedness underneath the ruched hem of her gown. As much clouded by spirits as her mind was, and as well as I knew her body and all its responses, I knew I could pleasure her without resistance, show her with touch what I could not say with words. Now, however, was not the time.

As I anticipated, Victoria was almost instantly sick, using the bowl I held for her, heaving and coughing until there was nothing left to come up, then rinsing her mouth with the cool water I offered. She lay back miserably with her eyes closed and allowed me to wipe her face with a damp cloth and smooth back sweat-dampened hair.

I sat beside her quietly, trying to block out all thought and only be there for her. When she opened her eyes some time later her gaze was once more clear and unclouded, and thoroughly miserable.

“You always made me feel so safe. As though nothing bad would ever happen as long as my Lord M was with me.” Her voice was small, clear and lucid and very forlorn.

“I am here, sweetheart. I will always be here.” What else could I say? How could I reassure her that she made far too much of an unfortunate circumstance?

“No. You are not. Perhaps you never were, since I persuaded you to marry me.”  Now, in spite of her apparent vulnerability, Victoria Regina looked back at me. Cool, composed and remote, somewhere far away behind a glass barrier I could not cross. She was a formidable creature, this Queen.  “Do you know how easy it would be to turn to you and forget all of this in your arms?” Her voice sounded eminently reasonable, as though she was merely discussing a new proposed tariff or some greengrocer’s strike. Of course she knew that is what I longed to do – hold her and soothe her and take away the hurt I’d caused. Didn’t we always know exactly what the other was feeling?

“But I can’t or I will hate myself. You make me weak and I must be strong.” That did cut me to the core, for I had above all never wanted her to be weak. I wanted to be her strength, it’s true, but only to borrow and draw on to augment her own. I told her so.

“I blame myself. They all warned me. You warned me, you above all. I was headstrong and determined to have my own way and see where it’s brought all of us? If I hadn’t been so determined to marry you I would at least have my Lord M to turn to.” That wrung my heart.

“Sweetheart – nothing must change. A foolish mistake on my part but not betrayal. You must know that.”

“If you mean you did not go to that woman’s bed, I accept that. Do _you_ understand that if you had only gone to a bordello and purchased physical intimacy it would not be nearly the betrayal that this has been?” I thought about that. Was it her youth talking, her essential innocence, or was it instead some fundamental difference between men and women? Had she gone through with her plan to bed Cameron it wouldn’t have mattered in the least to me whether they had discussed the Corn Laws first or said nothing at all as they rutted away. To me, to any man I think, it is the physical act alone which constitutes betrayal. Not so for women. I filed that thought away.

“Victoria, I am not going anywhere. I will be here with you and for you in whatever capacity you allow me. If you are not ready to be my wife again then I am still your subject, your adviser, your protector, your friend.”

“We can not be as we were. I do not know how to go back.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, yet strong in some new way I could not quite define. I only knew that we were inextricably bound, that our very souls had a connection which could not be severed. _Dare I touch her? Were we to go back to the old artificial formality, at least until I could win back my wife?_ Tentatively I raised a hand, stroked her jawline with one finger and saw her flinch as if I’d struck her.

I lifted her hand and looked meaningfully at my wedding band on her finger, at its mate on my own left hand. Men did not wear wedding bands, yet I chose to. I did not contemplate removing it. We had love between us, and the deepest of friendships. From that we could rebuild the rest.

“Victoria, I am your husband. That does not change.”

“Oh, William, if you’ve taught me anything it’s that everything changes.”


	26. Epilogue

[Everything Changes-You Tube](https://youtu.be/2YOkHujdTMA)-

by Staind

If you just walked away  
What could I really say?  
Would it matter anyway?  
Would it change how you feel?

I am the mess you chose  
The closet you cannot close  
The devil in you I suppose  
Cause the wounds never heal

But everything changes  
If I could  
Turn back the years  
If you could  
Learn to forgive me  
Then I could learn to feel

Sometimes the things I say  
In moments of disarray  
Succumbing to the games we play  
To make sure that it's real

But everything changes  
If I could  
Turn back the years  
If you could  
Learn to forgive me  
Then I could learn to feel

When it's just me and you  
Who knows what we could do  
If we can just make it through  
The toughest part of the day

But everything changes  
If I could  
Turn…

But everything changes  
If I could  
Turn back the years  
If you could  
Learn to forgive me  
Then I could  
Learn how to feel

  
Then we could  
Stay here together  
And we could  
Conquer the world  
If we could  
Say that forever  
Is more than just a word

If you just walked away  
What could I really say?  
And would it matter anyway?  
It wouldn't change how you feel

 

Next: [Lingua Flora](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057211/chapters/32382420)

 

 


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